


The Figher of the Second Quarter Quell

by madamchocolate



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 50th Hunger Games, Attractive Haymitch Abernathy, F/M, Gen, Haymitch Abernathy in his original games, Hunger Games!, Intrigue!, Other, Second Quarter Quell, Thank you Woody Harrelson, but it's angsty of course given the circumstances, of course I'm adding romance I like romance and I write it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 44,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23212975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamchocolate/pseuds/madamchocolate
Summary: The 50th Hunger Games: the Quarter Quell. From the moment of the Reaping to the train ride home; Haymitch Abernathy's account of becoming the first Victor of District 12.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Reaping

Solemn silence hung in the air as the citizens of District 12 shuffled their way to the Hall of Justice in the main square.

Finn was squeezing his hand tightly.

"No fear," he told his brother, trying to keep his own voice straight.

"No fear," Finn replied, giving a broken smile.

He felt proud of his brother, but said nothing of it.

Earlier that morning Finn was a shaking mess in the house, but the second they stepped out onto the porch, he had taken a deep breath and drew his face blank before they started walking.

He'd taught his little brother well.

"I'll meet you after, alright?" he said as they got in line to check in.

"See you," Finn said quietly after the Peacekeeper pricked his finger and confirmed his identity.

"Next!" the Peacekeeper said in a deep and loud voice.

He stepped forward, looking around at all the same solemn faces around him. His left eye twitched as his finger was pricked and drew blood. The handheld machine beeped and the Peacekeeper nodded, waving his hand to make him move away as he said "Next!"

Haymitch shuffled along and found a kid in his class, Wallace, to stand next to. They weren't really friends but they occasionally talked about the Seam where they both lived, compared how many times they had entered for tessera, and what animals other than the stray dogs - which were considered as pets - they could easily catch and kill for food. Wallace was always admiring the fact that Haymitch went as far as the Districts boundaries to hunt. The boundaries that were lined with electric fences and occasionally patrolled by peacekeepers; and if you were caught too close to the border, it was only trouble that followed.

They stood side by side, giving each other silent company as they waited for the rest of the children and teenagers to file in. Haymitch glanced around the crowd and caught sight of Rose.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. She looked down and muttered something to a girl next to her, who looked up and sent a glare his way as her mouth moved, probably trash talking him for Rose's comfort.

Haymitch had broken up with her after the Quarter Quell announcement two months ago. District 12 had gathered then, similar to now, to watch it. Haymitch remembered watching President Snow pulling the envelope with a clearly marked 50 under The Capitol seal from his suit jacekt before clearing his throat and announcing the Quarter Quell's theme:

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district will be required to send twice as many tributes."

Haymitch blinked, drawing himself back to the present, where he needed to be.

"All the other guys thank you, actually," Wallace said, his eyes moving to where Haymitch's gaze was, moving back and forth between him and Rose, "We've been waiting for her to leave your stupid ass."

Haymitch rolled his eyes as he shrugged.

Juvenile drama still reigned, even in such a horrific time as this.

"Can never be too careful," he muttered, shuffling his feet, his hands curling into fists at his side, "And it wasn't even going anywhere. She's a merchant's kid, yada yada, we're from different worlds…" he drifted off, not even sure if Wallace was buying his lie.

It was true, they were from different parts of the District, but that didn't stop Haymitch from enjoying her laugh, liking the feel of her hand in his, and the comfortable silence they shared as they lay next to each other in the grassy fields near the border, talking about anything but their own lives. And it didn't hurt that his mom adored her. He was surprised his eyes got wet when he told her they couldn't see each other anymore. With the possibility of his name being drawn doubling for the Quell, he didn't want to take the chance of a more dreadful goodbye.

They were too young for that foolish stuff anyways.

They were _kids_. With the possibility of being sent to their death.

The doors at the Hall of Justice opened, and the elder council came out and took their seats as the crowd grew restless. Among them was someone he had never seen before at the Reapings. She was in a purple pinstripe suit that showed her feminine curves, but her black hair was shaved in a buzz cut and she held a scowl on her face, not even glancing at the crowd.

"Who's that?" Haymitch muttered.

"The new appointed mentor for the tributes. Thor Chadwick kicked the bucket a month ago, remember? He was from the 11th Games, it was about time," Wallace explained,

Haymitch let out a hmm, nodding as he vaguely remembered the District's last victor; an introvert, only coming out to buy food in supplies in bulk before disappearing into the Victor's Village where he lived alone. In the District it was always known but never spoken of that each night shouts, yells, screams, and sounds of destruction were heard from his house.

"Hello and welcome!" Clara Fiore, the escort and host of the Reaping each year announced as she tapped on the microphone on the stage, breaking the hum of the whispering crowd into a static silence.

Her voice was so whiny it seemed like she was always asking a question. She could probably stop wars with that voice; the sides would retreat just so they didn't have to hear her voice. That, and the more atrocious fashion choices she made. Even at District 12 were the word 'fasion' was moot because it's citizens were more intent on feeding themselves rather than care what they looked like, the imfamous styles of the better off Districts weren't unkown.

"Here we go…" Wallace sighed.

"Welcome, and Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Clara announced as she did each year since Haymitch could remember. He wondered if she even aged but figured that The Capitol probably had something for that.

"Unless we decide to send you to your death… then not so much," Haymitch muttered. Wallace scoffed and smiled.

"Now, before we start, we have twovery special videos! Brought all the way from The Capitol, our first video starring our own President Snow!" she said.

This announcement was met with silence from the crowd.

Clara put her hands forward and started clapping quickly. There was a moment of silence, but then the Peacekeepers started clapping too. All of a sudden, the crowd was giving a weak and mandatory applause to the President as he appeared on the screen amongst the musical tones of The Capitol anthem echoing throughout the square. It was the same video from two months ago: announcing the theme of the Games for the Quarter Quell.

After that, the "War, Terrible War" video came on, now just a bother since it played each and every year. Haymitch could even mouth the words as it played, not even looking at the screen. As they did each year, the crowd talked over it, and the Peacekeepers all yelled for silence. They had to draw their weapons for the square to finally fall silent again.

"Well, this shall prove to be quite a year!" Clara said as the video faded to black and The Capitol Seal showed on the screen, "Now, on with the Reaping! And as always, ladies first," Clara said as the crowd fell deadly silent. If the species were still alive, crickets would've been heard.

In a bright white dress with a knee length skirt that bounced in an unnatural way, Clara shuffled her heels to the bowl on the right of the stage. She stuck her hand in, reaching to the bottom, her hand immersed in white paper with kids names printed on them. She pulled out two pieces of paper before she shuffled back to the microphone and opened and read them both before clearing her throat.

"The two female tributes are Margaret Carto and Maysilee Donner!"

Two female screams emitted from the far back where the other citizens could stand to watch the reaping. The crowd of kids and teenagers fell still as the names were called. On the left side of the square, where the girls were, all moved slowly to make room for the two new tributes to pass through.

They were of the same height as they walked towards the stage. One had brown hair in a short ponytail, the other with long blonde hair braided straight down her back. The sound of the hard boots of the Peacekeepers stomping on the ground as they led the two girls to the stairs broke the silence, but no one made a sound as the two girls fumbled and grasped each other's hands as they ascended the steps together. Clara grasped the hand of the brown haired girl and pulled them both to the microphone.

"Who is who, dears?" Clara asked.

"I'm Mar- Mag- Maggie… Carto. Maggie Carto." The brown haired girl was shaking.

"Then you are Maysille Donner!" Clara cried out too happily, holding her hand out to the blonde. She gave a short nod, glaring at Clara, who either didn't notice it or was too good of an actress as she smiled brightly.

The blonde girl stood stock still while the girl in pig tails was shaking, as though her body was shivering.

Clara smiled all the same as she spoke into the microphone again.

"Well then, now to the boys," Clara said before she shuffled on her heels towards the second bowl on the other side of the stage.

Haymitch's heart was beating rapidly. His fingers twitched and he ran his shaking hand through his hair, drawing his other hand into a shaking fist.

The animals he was able to catch for food had their seasons. Finn, only nine years old, was still learning. He hadn't really done so much to help during their hunting sessions, but he was vigilant and dedicated enough to make Haymitch proud. However on the off seasons, Haymitch was entering his name at least four times a week to help feed his family.

Clara drew two names from the bowl and went back to the microphone amid the new silence from the crowd, all waiting in anticipation.

"Dylan Triop-" Clara said first and Haymitch couldn't help but let out a little bit of his held in breath.

He looked for Finn – during the Reaping kids were sorted in the square by gender and age - and found his gaze again. He smiled and nodded, assuring him it was going to be okay…

"- and Haymitch Abernathy!"

Finn's face distorted into pain and he started to run but the boys around him managed to stop him. In the distance Haymitch heard a man scream, a sound he wasn't sure he'd heard before. That was the last thing he heard, other than a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

He wasn't sure what to make of it.

He wasn't sure to make of the estranged faces around him, all staring, all still.

He felt someone touch his shoulder and he jerked away, startled. He looked over to see Wallace, still hearing the ringing in his ears.

Wallace was looking at him with… pity. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he shook his head.

"I – I'm so sorry."

Haymitch halted in his breath, barely hearing Wallace as he looked around. And only then did it finally register in his mind; his face twisted when it finally hit him, like a punch in the gut.

Everyone was staring at him.

Because his name was just called; he was the final tribute.

He stumbled forward to the center aisle, his path made clear by the others. Once he could breathe freely a Peacekeeper instantly grabbed him and led him to the stairs with a tight grip on his arm, where the other kid - he couldn't even recall what his name was – was waiting at the base of the stairs.

They didn't hold hands as they ascended the steps. The other guy was the one dragged onto the stage, Haymitch numbly following.

"Dylan Triop," he said into the microphone with a whisper.

"Then you must be Haymitch Abernathy!" Clara said, and Haymitch gave a shrug of his shoulder. He meant to nod, but he wasn't sure his brain was really working at that moment.

Clara spoke again… and he heard faint applause.

Then he felt someone grab his arms from behind, and he was being dragged into the Hall of Justice by a Peacekeeper. He was pushed into a small room that was empty except for a desk with a chair and a sofa.

"Holy Shit," he whispered thing his motor skills were back.

He rushed to the window and tried to look outside but the glass was distorted and gave him a smudged and blurred view of dark movement. He sighed, and then sat on the sofa. He looked down at the material he was sitting on, a nice intricate design. He wondered how much this sofa had cost to even be put here.

He let out a yell and punched the cushions next to him.

His damned name, in that bowl more than sixty times.

He yelled out again and delivered more punches to the sofa.

He was going to die soon.

He screamed and punched the cushion two more times before he heard the door swing open. He brought his hands up as he looked to see who it was.

A flash of brown curly hair came towards him and he felt his brother's arms wrap tight around him. He heard the soft voice of his dad call out his name. He lumbered in and sat next to him as the Peacekeeper left.

Haymitch pulled Finn back and his younger brother sat between them and curled into his side. His father reached forward and settled a large hand on Haymitch's shoulder.

He turned to look at him, surprised but quick to hide it that his matching grey eyes were freely spilling silent tears down his rugged face. For once it wasn't dirty with the sut from the mines. He'd washed up for the reaping, donning pants and shirt instead of the usual work jumpsuit.

When their mother died, he'd stopped going to work.

That was until a teacher privately approached him and noted that Finn and Haymitch were pounds thinner and had no clean clothes. After that, he went back to work, climbing up to supervisor, keeping his head held high among the whispers and gossip of his cowardice after being widowed.

Haymitch sat there, staring at his father, and for once he couldn't say anything.

His wife was killed as a standby casualty in a Black Market fight gone wrong. And now, he was going to lose his firstborn son in the Games.

"Haymitch," he grumbled, and squeezed his shoulder, "I love you, so much. I know we're not that kind of family... but I do, and you have no idea," he said, and Haymitch looked away, not willing to handle seeing his father cry. "I know you'll be great, just come on home, okay?"

Haymitch took a deep breath, and brought his hand to cover the one on his shoulder, squeezing it, looking back at his dad to give a weak smile.

"I love you too, dad," he said. More tears appeared and his dad used a cough to cover his sob as he looked away.

"Finn," Haymitch said, looking down at his brother before hugging him tightly. "Stay in shape. Keep running like we used to every week. Work on catching more animals, but don't make trouble. Don't enter your name unless it's life or death, you hear me?"

At that, a Peacekeeper swung the door open, barging in. Haymitch stood up while still hugging his brother.

His dad stood up with a growl, his hand coming around haymitch's shoulder once again. Finn looked like he was going to cry, but he could tell he was trying not to, for him. Haymitch smiled, trying to be comforting, and Finn smiled back.

Haymitch only watched as the Peacekeeper took his family away.

"No fear!" Finn cried out, his face twisted, tears streaming down his face, his cheeks bright red.

The door closed, and he was alone again.

"No fear," he whispered, shaking his head, holding no more belief in the saying.

No hope was more like it.

Nobody else came to visit him. Not even Wallace. He even had a sliver of hope that Rose would come to see him, so he could have one last goodbye, but she didn't come. And in a way he understood.

He was going to be murdered for entertainment soon. There really wasn't that much left to say.


	2. To The Capitol

"Come on, darlings! I know it's a lot to take in, but the train will be absolutely to die for!" Clara Fiore along with a crew of Peacekeepers edged them all on board, leaving the loud crowd of District 12 citizens behind them as the doors closed behind with a click. It left them all in an eerie silence despite through the train door windows the boisterous and soon to be riotous crowd was still seen. "Witness the great luxuries of The Capitol has to offer!"

Haymitch blinked at the brightness of it. There was a large table, mountains of colored treats and pastries in the middle, a sitting area in the front with two sofas and several armchairs, and more seating on the other side of the tables. Everything was in either a rich purple or blue color, the wood of the tables shined as though polished twice, and the lights all had crystal fixtures, making everything almost blinding it was so bright.

The four of them sat down on the arm chairs, more-so Clara pushed them to sit down.

"The train will be departing within ten minutes. Your mentor was travelling all day; she's resting now, so you will meet her in a few hours. There are multiple sleeping carts, so no fighting over who gets which bed!" she said and let out a small laugh.

It was met with silence.

"Well... I think I'll leave you four to get acquainted, then. I'll be somewhere else if need me," Clara said and disappeared through another door.

They all looked at one another, yet never met each other's eyes.

Haymitch was finally facing the first part of his competition.

He stood up and walked over to the drink cart, glancing around at all of the colored liquids. He chose a clear brown one that smelled like maple, poured himself a generous amount into a nearby glass and took a big gulp. It tasted sour and burned his mouth and throat. He squeezed his eyes tight and swallowed back a cough as he took a deep breath.

He heard a colorful laugh. He looked over to see the blonde, whose hair wasn't in a braid anymore but loose, in soft waves falling down her back. She was grinning as she lay back in her chair.

"Scotch isn't for everybody," she said.

Haymitch frowned for a second, hating to be embarrassed. He opened the lid of a small silver tub and found it full of ice. He put a small handful in his glass with the 'Scotch' and returned to his seat. He took another drink, this time making it a small sip. It still burned but the ice made it a little easier and he made sure to keep his face straight.

"Well I guess I'm not everybody," he said, meeting the girls bright green eyes.

She only smirked.

"Try saying that without straining your voice."

"Maybell, is it?" he asked, even though he knew her actual name.

He usually saw her when he passed the marketplace every day on his way home from school. Her uncle worked in the small sweets shop, she and her twin sister were always working there when they weren't in school. He knew it was Maysilee because she always had her long hair in a braid, while her twin sister Mariella's hair was too short to support anything that required a ribbon.

Her smile faltered, but she shook her head.

"Maysilee," she corrected.

"Haymitch," he replied.

"I know," she shot back.

He raised an eyebrow at her, keeping her gaze for a stern moment before turning to the boy in the armchair next to him.

He was big in size, but the fear on his face made him seem as young as he really was. His long, straight, and unkempt brown hair didn't help him seem any older.

"Dylan, right?"

He only nodded.

The three then looked at the brown haired girl, still un-introduced.

"Call me Maggie."

They fell into an awkward silence.

Maggie was glancing at each of them with worried eyes, her hands twitching in her lap, Dylan was staring at his outstretched legs, and Maysilee and Haymitch were intermittently looking at each other - sizing each other up: Maysilee glaring, Haymitch staring.

"Well, this is going to be fun," Haymitch said as he stood up yet again, this time intent to put something in his mouth so he wouldn't try to fill the silence with babble.

Food sounded good.

It seemed as if a day had passed while they all sat around and said nothing. The girls had silently come close and Maggie was now re-braiding Maysilee's hair. Dylan had stayed in his seat, silent as ever but now curled up and staring at the floor.

The train cart door opened and the tall woman from the Reaping walked through, with Clara tagging along, still in her white dress. The other woman had gotten rid of her pinstripe jacket, showing her matching purple vest over a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"Sit," she said to the room in an easy yet commanding tone.

Haymitch walked over from the train windows and sat back down at the small crowd of armchairs.

She walked forward, her hands in her pockets.

"My name is Cassie and I'm your mentor for this year, and yes, for all four of you."

She met each of their gazes, looking at Haymitch last.

As a mentor, she was a Victor, and she had dark eyes; serious and intent. They held the memories of whatever she had to do in her own Games to be standing before them now.

"I'm going to give it to you straight and simple: this year, your chance of dying sooner is greater. That is, if you're weak. If you want to live, if you can fight, then you lower that chance. Now I may not be from your District, but truthfully, in the Arena, it doesn't mean as much as everybody makes it out to be. And this time… it could be the same. But the Careers, you never-"

"Cassie, that is not necessary," Clara interrupted sharply, "there is no need to-"

"Fine, fine," she said, waving a hand to shut her up. Clara sighed, and turned to make a small plate of treats for herself, keeping the plate an arm's length away from her spotless white dress. Cassie continued.

"I will be mentoring you individually and as a group."

"Wait, you can't make-" Haymitch started.

"I am not going to be-" Maysilee also started but Cassie cut them both off.

"No arguments. I'm not going to sugarcoat anything, guys. I'm not here to comfort you, give you false encouragement. I'm here to give you a chance to be a survivor in the arena.

"We'll be arriving at The Capitol soon. At the station there will be citizens there to greet you. Don't cower, frown, or show that you're scared; this is the time to pretend - your life actually depends on it. Your first impressions this next week are extremely important. You need sponsors when you get to the arena, and sponsors spend their money on Tributes that grab their attention and hold onto it. You want to be remembered, liked, and recognized. And since you aren't Careers, this will take a lot more effort."

"Who are the Careers?" Dylan asked in a low voice, almost a whisper.

"Tributes from the first two Districts; trained since they're born for The Games and then volunteer at the Reapings," Maysilee muttered.

"And this year instead of four of them, there will be eight," Haymitch added dryly.

Cassie nodded, looking solemn.

"You want to stay away from them, at all costs. I will say this again, and repeatedly during training: At. All. Costs," she said, meeting each of their gazes again, her eyes turning downright mean. But it had the desired effect, at least Haymitch could see, as Dylan and Maggie both shivered. However he and Maysilee already knew what the Careers were, so they didn't need to hear it again that joining in an alliance with a Career meant that you were expendable.

"After the grand entrance at the station you'll be dragged off to be made pretty by your designers, one each for the boys and girls. Then it's the Parade where you'll wear ridiculous costumes, a night of rest, and then it's all survival training from then on, with help from those at the Training Center and my own mentoring. After the scoring, there are the interviews, and then... The Games."

There was a beat of silence, and Haymitch needed to break it.

"We're not going to be naked for the Parade, are we?" he asked, recalling that last year the District 12 Tributes were slathered in black body paint and little else to represent coal; the District's main export and only thing it was known for.

That got the rest laughing.

"If you guys complain enough, it might be changed; after all your numbers are greater this time," Cassie said with a surprising grin.

After that, despite the situation the train was leading them towards, talking between them seemed to go smoother and the tension slowly subsided as they spent their last hour on the train towards The Capitol.

Somehow they all got to talking about their lives at Disctrict 12.

Dylan and Maysilee were both from merchant families. Dylan's parents sold fabrics and yarn in the Marketplace, and Maysilee's Uncle had his sweets shop. Maggie and Haymitch talked about the Seam, Maggie's sister had a junk stand at the Black Market, selling trinkets and vintage objects.

Soon enough, the train was pulling to a stop, and they all went to the windows to watch the colorful and gaudy crowd of cheering people. Maysilee went up next to Haymitch as he watched the colorful crowd.

"Their hats all look like genitalia," Maysilee said as she smiled and gave a short wave through the window. A few people jumped up and down and waved back as Haymitch threw his head back in laughter.

"I thought I knew you could smile. Only with your brother though, it seems."

Haymitch stopped and looked down at her green eyes, confused.

He had noticed her - it was hard not to with that bright hair and her excitement at school for every subject, often annoying the teachers with her endless questions, and even corrections… but that comment said it all: she'd noticed him?

She raised an eyebrow, and Haymitch blinked.

"Well, I've found something new to entertain me," he said, nodding his head to the crowd.

Maysilee smiled and lingered for a second before her smile faltered as she turned and left, gathering with Cassie and Clara to exit the train.

The rest of them followed and all climbed down the steps together to a loud cheering crowd. The Peacekeepers made a small barrier to either keep the crowd away from them, or to prevent one of them from running away.

They were shuffled into a large elevator. After few seconds of tense silence, the doors opened and Cassie turned around, gave a nod as a goodbye, and got off. The doors closed again.

"Off to meet the cleaners, then the designers!" Clara said as she pressed another button. The doors opened to a bustling room with white walls and glossy black tiles.

"There you are!"

Haymitch looked around and frowned, trying not to laugh. Two women were rushing towards them, wearing brightly colored dresses and matching purple ringlets for hair.

The one in the pink dress grabbed Dylan and Haymitch and rushed them to a different room.

"We'll need a double deep clean before we present you to Mackie. Prepare yourselves, boys."


	3. Training

"And lastly, there is absolutely no fighting with the other Tributes. Enough of that will happen inside the arena. Now off you go," the head trainer, Marko, said as he finished his long spiel about the rules and regulations of the Training Center.

There was a beat of silence before all forty-eight tributes started making their ways to specific stations, all quiet.

The training center had various weapons, weights, obstacle courses, and survival skill stations: some even had real trees, he saw paintbrushes at another one, and one just had a bunch of pieces of rope and wire waiting to be crafted into traps.

As per Cassie's instructions, Haymitch ignored the numbers pinned to each of their backs noting their District - all except the numbers of 1 and 2, whom Haymitch had paid attention to once they all got to the enormous training gymnasium.

Oren, Stone, Lyla, and Remy were from District 1. Slater, Argo, Maya, and Alecia from 2. All were tall, toned in muscle, and were sending intimidating glares to all the other tributes as they stuck together, muttering and whispering and even chuckling as they look around at the other tributes, as though readying and planning each kill.

Haymitch ignored the cold shiver down his back and decided to go to the edible plants station first, something he was at least somewhat familiar with. In the odd seasons where the animals were scarce, he had to turn to the native fauna to forage for food.

All four members of District 3 were there, but he noticed Maysilee among them. She didn't look that happy to see him.

The trainer put them together by district, and Maysliee didn't hide her sigh of resentment, making Haymitch raise an eyebrow. Then the two of them proceeded to bicker at each other as they tried the 'tells' of a poisonous plant.

"Of course this thing is poisonous, look at the spiked leaves!" Maysilee said as she held onto a branch with light purple berries in her hand, brandishing it front of his face.

"But mint has spiked leaves! And I know that your Uncle's shop has minted chocolates, are you saying they are poisonous too?"

Her eyebrow twitched.

"This is poisonous, and I know it," she said through clenched teeth.

"Then you just killed me," Haymitch said and without another thought, grabbed at a berry and tossed it into his mouth.

For some reason, they had been each other's competition since the moment they stepped onto the train at District 12. And they both knew it; he watched her as she sized him up as he did the same to her.

Which is why it surprised him that the moment he closed his mouth around the purple berries and took his first bite to prove her wrong, Maysilee let out a gasp as she grabbed his face, pushing his cheeks together to try to get him to spit them out.

He kept her bright green gaze with his as he finished chewing the berry that tasted too sweet, ignoring her hands on his cheeks as he swallowed. He then grinned.

Maysilee stared for a few seconds more before she drew her hands back, and her hands were suddenly slapping at him with even a punch or two thrown in.

"What the-" he said, trying to get a hold of her. If the trainers saw they were fighting, it wouldn't end to well. Especially if they were from the same District...

"You're supposed to die in the arena, you idiot!" she gave him a shove, but he didn't even budge.

"I just proved to you that they're not poisonous, May!"

She faltered in her anger and looked at him in shock, her mouth falling open.

"What did you just call me?" she asked in a whisper.

"Uhm," Haymitch looked down, hiding his own shock. He'd meant to say her full name... but the nickname just came easy to him. It had come naturally; like with Finn and Finnick. "Nothing, I just forg-"

"No… my- never mind," she said, looking down, her hands dropping as she took a step back.

There was another second of silence until he reached forward and grabbed the branch from Maysilee. He took another berry and popped it into his mouth.

"I just hope there are more of these in the arena. I might just eat myself to death," he said, suddenly wanting to erase the distant look on Maysilee's face.

It worked. It took a second before she blinked and laughed.

"I can see that. You getting bloat or something," she said, smirking.

"I'd probably be the first to die of that in the history of the Games. I'll be talked about for ages," he said as he grinned, "Careful kids, don't come hungry to the Hunger Games!" he mimicked in his best Clara voice.

She let out a small laugh.

They got looks from the other tributes that were picking through some ivy. Haymitch glared at them, and they looked away.

"Sorry," he whispered to May, knowing that they were being listened to.

"It's not you. I just need to keep my laughter under control. God forbid I show mirth around here, right?"

Haymitch nodded. He looked to his left, and saw the two blonde females from District 1 the next station over looking at them with dangerous grins.

He looked back to Maysilee, who had also masked her smiling face to a general scowl, just like he had done.

They came to a silent understanding and Haymitch set down the branch and gave her a nod.

"See you around," she said softly as he walked away, putting needed distance between them.

He gave a charming smile to the girls from District 1 who only shook their heads as he walked by, their grins now fainter.

He acted like a tribute on a mission, and found himself making his way towards a table filled with a display of knives even though his next plan was to train in camouflage. Mannequins with scored targets on various parts were but a few feet away.

He was skilled with a knife. He might be better trained in skinning an animal with the weapon rather than killing it, but he knew how to throw one. However, the only knife he had back at home was at least two times smaller in size than the one he now held in his hand. One side of the blade was razor sharp, the other serrated, with large hooked points. This wasn't just any knife, it was a murder weapon.

"Next!" he heard a deep voice yell out. He looked over to the Trainer of the station, dressed in the uniform grey, looking at him.

"What?" he asked, not sure what was going on.

"You need three knives for this exercise, pick two more," the trainer said, frowning. He heard a scoff behind him, and saw a pack of three guys sneering and shaking their heads at him. Haymitch looked back down at the table with various knives, and he chose two smaller ones, something he was more used to.

"Hit the mannequins as they come forward," the trainer said as he stepped back.

Haymitch heard a few more laughs behind him, but ignored them as he stepped forward onto the small platform that let out the sound of a bell as it felt his weight. Then he heard a small whirr of something mechanical and looked up to see the mannequin on the right move forward.

He threw the larger knife by the handle. It spun and hit the mannequin's lower thigh, barely sticking. The next one to move was in the center, and he threw the next knife gingerly by the blade. This time it hit the stomach. The next one, on the left, got a knife near the middle of the chest. Another beep motioned the end of the practice, the mannequins retreating.

"Not bad! You're getting the hang of it, 12. Practice more, you'll get better these next few days," the trainer said.

Haymitch nodded and barely muttered a 'thank you' as he left and headed towards the neighboring station with spears, where he saw the station trainer was standing around doing nothing.

"What do I need to know?" Haymitch asked as he approached.

The trainer looked up from cracking his knuckles and smiled at his new trainee.

"You need to know about balance," he said as he grabbed two spears, handing one out to Haymitch.

He grabbed it and followed the trainer to the base of the platform.

"The balance point is all about where you hold it; this is the spot where it stays steady, doesn't tilt forwards or backwards with ease - complete control. Take a slanted vertical stance to get the right position... bend your knees slightly, and throw," he said, showing each step with a second of a pause in between. He re-did the throw motion and let go of the spear, it hitting the furthest mannequin in the middle of the target.

"Up you go," the trainer said.

Haymitch sighed and walked up to the platform; it gave a similar ding as it felt his weight, and the mannequins lit up in a red glow and moved forward. He did as the trainer did; putting his left foot forward as he turned to the right and took a deep breath as he held the spear in balance. He then pitched his arm forward, letting it go at the last second. It hit the nearest mannequin on the target, but at one of the outer rings.

"Good weight, but work on the follow through. It's all about letting go at the right time," the trainer said.

"What's your name?" Haymitch asked, turning towards the trainer as he stood on the platform, the target mannequins continuing to move behind him.

"Leo?" he asked, as though unsure of the question.

"Well Leo, I think we might be spending a lot of time training together. I'm Haymitch."

The trainer smiled, and tilted his head.

"If you'd like, I can show you how to craft one without using a stone or blade," Leo said as he walked towards the cluster of spears where a few lone sticks of wood and string sat to the side.

Haymitch followed, smiling, finally feeling a little bit of confidence.


	4. 12th Floor

That night Clara and Cassie forcefully rounded them up to eat dinner together on the 12th floor Penthouse at the Tribute Center, their home until they were forced into the arena to either kill or be killed.

Mackie, Clara, and Eva, the girls' designer, were drinking and talking animatedly at one end of the table. Cassie was sitting with them at the other head of the table, evaluating their first day of training, occasionally rolling her eyes at the host and designers.

"Dylan, you are the dark horse in this group! Who knew you were so skilled in hand to hand; you bruised two of the trainers today, another one swears you sprained their wrist. Keep it up."

"My friends and I wrestled a lot," he mumbled, fighting a smile. Haymitch raised an eyebrow. Maybe they could spar together and he could learn a trick or two. One-upping the trainers was impressive.

"Tone up on weights everyday, and start with weapons tomorrow, your choice. You can't rely only on your fists," Cassie continued.

Dylan nodded. Cassie almost grinned as she gave a short nod back before turning to the next tribute.

"Maggie, you are quite the survivalist. You did very well at those stations: traps, edible plants, camouflage, creating weapons; however I'm going to say the same, you can't rely on only one thing, start training with weapons. With your agile hands, you might want to try the bow and arrow, or knives."

"What about swords?" Maggie asked, perking up.

Cassie shrugged, but eventually shook her head.

"You can try, but to become even remotely good with a sword takes a lot of upper body strength training, more than what we have time for. Try it only if you don't succeed with the knives or bow and arrows, okay? And though it's tempting, don't go for the huge blades, try something small and light, such as a Katana."

Maggie nodded.

"Now Maysilee, you tackled the obstacle course with ease, and did well with the edible plants," she gave a pointed look to Haymitch, who glanced at Maysilee, who looked away, "but work with weapons now. Speed and agility doesn't account for everything."

Maysilee gave a nod and picked at her food before eating a small bite or two of the chicken on her plate.

"Haymitch…" Cassie said, and he looked up, not sure if he was terrified or anxious for the feedback.

"You moved around on the stations, which is smart - but you need to narrow it down. Work on weights. In fact, you and Dylan do weights together from now on. It will confuse the other tributes that you're working together... Actually, Maggie and Maysilee, you both practice on bows and arrows together as well."

Haymitch looked over to Dylan, who only shrugged. Maggie and Maysilee nodded at each other.

"And keep it up with the spear work, Haymitch. Keep working on how to build weapons, but practice more with knives... all of you, practice more with knives. They're a frequent weapon found in the arena, and the tributes don't focus too well on them when training. It's an advantage."

Haymitch nodded and then set his fork down on his plate.

"Cassie, can I ask you something?" he asked, taking a small sip of his water. It tasked like crystals to him, it was that clear and crisp, nothing like the flaky and dirty water back home.

"Shoot," she said, holding her hands together on the table in front of her untouched plate.

"What weapon did you train with, and what did you end up actually using?" he asked.

Cassie's eyebrows furrowed and she took a while before answering.

"Well, in training… I acted less than par around the other tributes, but during individual training and the scoring, I was unstoppable with a sword. My dad was into vintage sports; he liked Fencing."

She paused, took another sip of her drink, and continued.

"In the Arena… I could only get my hands on two axes, different in size. It took me some practice, but I got used to them easily."

Haymitch wanted to ask more.

How did she win?

Did she get any sponsors?

Did she have to kill the boy from her district?

However he saw the look of dread on Cassie's face, and decided it was better to stay silent.

Cassie tossed back the rest of her green drink and set the glass down on the table with a thud.

"Well," she said as she pushed her chair back to sit up, "I'm off to sleep. Good luck in training tomorrow, remember what I told you. See you kids... later."

She then walked away and disappeared down the hall. They heard the door of her room slam closed.

"Good job, idiot!" Maysilee seethed from next to him, punching his arm hard. "Now none of us can get in our questions!" she said louder, breaking the silence.

"Like what, did she pout her lips during the interviews?"

"Ugh, no! Like did she fight or flee at the Cornucopia? Did she stay in close range, or distance herself from the other tributes? Did she-"

"Have to deal with her period?" he asked, slightly annoyed; though he regretted it the moment he said it; his father had taught him better.

But the gall that this girl had... he just had to match it.

Maysilee let out a soft yell of anger and she slapped him, hard. It actually threw his head a little.

After a moment of staring at the ground, blinking through the pulsing pain in his cheek, the room grew silent. Haymitch turned his head to stare at her with a blank face. He was surprised to see her with a shocked look on her face.

"Ow," he said slowly, slightly grinning. He couldn't help it; nobody had reacted like that to his crude humor. Or his rudeness overall.

"Excuse me! The make-up artists will throw a fit if there is even a hint of a bruise!" Clara shrieked.

Maysillee glared at Haymitch, who could only stare back in surprise.

"I think that is enough for the lot of you tonight!" Clara said in a shrill voice as she stood up. "Off to sleep, all of you!"

They all sat there for a second, still stunned, Haymitch's cheek still pulsing, and wondering if he had a red mark in the shape of her small hand marked on his cheek. It sure felt like it, and his suspicion was confirmed as he watched Maysilee's eyes move down his face, her eyebrow twitching.

"Go!" Clara shrieked and they all jumped out of their chairs and rushed to their rooms.

"Idiot," Maysilee muttered under her breath as she walked past Haymitch.

"Psycho," he whispered back, walking only a few steps behind her. She slammed the door behind her and Maggie.

Haymitch only shook his head, inexplicably smiling as he followed Dylan into his room.

* * *

His eyes shot open, having spent enough time and effort keeping them closed after an hour or so.

He sighed and threw off the covers as he stumbled to the bathroom and splashed warm water on his face. He ignored the mirror as he left and crept out the bedroom, hoping there were still some treats left on the table out in the penthouse.

He stopped short at the end of the hall when he saw Maysilee curled up on the sofa, looking at a projected scene on the wall. It showed a scene of a forest: a clearing with tall grass and the setting sun shining through. It was many of the scenic options each room had, controlled by the main remote.

He remembered stumbling upon it in his and Dylan's room, setting it to the Capitol scene accidentally. He had enjoyed watching a wreck of a fashion show before he found the right button to change it. He liked the desert scene himself.

He must have made noise because Maysillee turned around, and half frowned.

"Hi," she said with a little sigh.

"Hey," he said, taking a few steps forward, the floor cold on his bare feet. He looked at the sofa, and back at her. She nodded, and he sat down, keeping an arm's length away.

She turned to look back at the forest scene.

"It reminds me of home. There aren't any trees in the Capitol, it took me only a minute to notice. I didn't know I would miss them so much," she muttered.

He blinked and then turned to look at the scene as well. The tall grass in the clearing was waving in the breeze, and there were even some wildflowers. The field was small and was basking in rays of the setting sun, the light peeking out from the large trees.

"I didn't just notice till now. I can't believe they don't have trees. Probably have only this for reference," he said, tilting his head at the moving picture.

They sat for a minute in silence before she spoke.

"Sorry about earlier."

He looked over and met her gaze, which really seemed apologetic. Her brow was slightly furrowed, as though she might be apologizing reluctantly.

"Nah, its okay. You're still a psycho, but it's okay."

She laughed and shook her head.

"It'll do me well in the arena."

Haymitch only nodded in agreement, putting them in silence again.

He broke it this time.

"Why did you act so weird when I nicknamed you May?" he asked. He couldn't help it. It was still bugging him, the way she seemed hurt and yet surprised by it.

She looked away.

"My… younger sister used to call me that."

"But I thought it was just you and Miriam…" he said, slowly.

She snapped her had to glare at him.

"You will never say that name again as long as I live, do you understand?"

He wasn't surprised by her sudden change in mood, and he dreaded that he had said the name in the first place.

Miriam was Maysilee's twin. Even during school, he noticed they had a connection, something more than just looking identical. He couldn't imagine having that broken so abruptly, and by the Games no less.

"Maysilee, I didn't mean..." he faltered, and reached forward, but she shook her head and leaned back. He retracted his hand.

"My younger sister Claire died when we were seven years old," she said.

He stayed silent for a while, clueless on what to say.

"You've probably heard this enough times – from me, and from others, but I'm so sorry…" he said shakily. He wanted to look into her eyes to let her know he meant it, but she kept looking down at her hands.

"It's... I mean, thank you. I mean it still happened when we were young, right? Not when I was older. I probably wouldn't have been able to handle it... But now..." she looked up, and he kept her gaze.

"Now she's just…" her eyes became a little teary, "And then there's Mir-Miriam…" she faltered and she looked away again, and Haymitch had an unfamiliar urge to hug her. "Nevermind..." she said, and ran a hand through her loose hair.

"The first time my brother saw me cry was a few days ago, after my name was drawn," he blurted out.

At that, Maysilee blinked.

"I... he'd never seen me like that. I think I made it worse," he continued.

She tilted her head.

"How did you two hunt? You usually had some animal you dragged or carried home during the spring and summer seasons…" she asked, turning her whole body towards him, curling her knees under her body, resting her hands in her lap.

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in subject.

"It's just that… I've never seen you carrying around a weapon or anything…" she continued, fading off, expecting him to answer.

"I did it with my hands," he started, giving her what she wanted; the focus off of her and her family. He willingly accepted it.

"We each had knives we hid. Sometimes I would set a small trap with vines, but at times when the Peacekeepers multiplied, I didn't want to get caught with a knife, so I would jump on them and snap their neck as quickly as possible."

"Then you're set for the Games, aren't you?" she said, looking challenging.

"Probably not. Human necks are stronger," he said, keeping her gaze, challenging back.

"And how do you know this?" she asked, the corner of her mouth tilting up.

He reached forward and wrapped his hands lightly around her neck. She jumped slightly but didn't pull back. He moved his thumb over her windpipe, his fingers along her neck and upper spine. His other hand was along her jaw.

"I've tried before," he bluffed, "and it seems that I can't turn the head quickly or strongly enough to snap the spine," he continued with a soft voice, tightening his hands just slightly, moving forward a little.

Her pulse under his finger quickened.

"Well, then you might be in trouble…" she whispered.

"Oh," he said, smiling a little as they shared air and continued to stare at each other, "I definitely am."

There was a beat of silence before someone else cleared their throat.

Haymitch turned his head, only removing one of his hands as he looked to see who it was.

Dylan stood there, looking at them quizzically.

"Hey…" he said with a croak, his hair a mess, his voice still groggy from sleep; but obviously noticing what he had interrupted.

"Well," Haymitch said, he looked back at Maysilee who weakly smiled at him as she took his hand and pulled it away from her neck.

"I'm going to try to sleep. Again. Goodnight," he said to her. She nodded, keeping his gaze for only a few seconds before turning back to the projected forest scene.

He pulled his hand from hers and stood up. He walked past Dylan, mumbling goodnight.

He stayed awake in his bed as he waited for Dylan to come back. He pretended to be asleep when he heard his name questioningly.

Dylan sighed, but still spoke as though he knew Haymitch was still awake.

"Whatever you're doing, you should stop. You'll regret it in the Arena."


	5. Individual Scoring

After the week finished, the training was over. And that meant they were closer to the Opening Day of the Games. Closer to entering an arena with forty-seven other tributes all with the same thing on their minds: come out as the sole survivor.

Now that the training was over, it was time for the individual scoring.

And since they were the last District, they all were the last to go.

It was a silent and tense room, every tribute pretending not to scope out the competition while doing exactly that. Haymitch had only stared at his calloused hands as he bent over his knees, letting his hair block his peripheral vision. And each tribute was called, and then disappeared. As the room emptied, the silence intensified. 

Dylan was currently in the gymnasium where the Gamemakers and other Capitol members were watching him as he performed whatever he was doing to impress the them so as to get an admirable score, which in turn would heighten his chances of sponsors that would aid him in the Arena.

Soon it would be his turn.

He was bouncing his knee repeatedly, and couldn't help it.

If he got a low score, sponsorship chances grew slim, Cassie had told them. The score would bump the odds of survival up in the Tribute Statistic Tables. Capitol citizens sponsored those who had the better odds - "Except the wildcards. Sometimes even Capitol citizens like to sponsor those with little chance, just for the entertainment to give them hope during the games," Cassie had told the four of them before, "don't be a wildcard."

Even though Cassie always emphasized that a lot of it didn't matter, the scores, the interview, the parade, that it all was worthless in the arena, Haymitch could tell that Cassie was worried about the individual scoring.

Suddenly a hand flew and grasped his knee very tightly, almost painfully. He stopped moving and looked at Maysilee who was next to him. It seemed she'd moved over from the other side of the room to stop him.

"Please stop that, it's driving me crazy," Maysilee interrupted his thoughts, her fingers digging deep.

Maggie was against the wall opposite them, silent as she performed some weird stretches, even cracking her knuckles, which echoed throughout the room.

"You're already crazy though," Haymitch said smiling, "More-so than the rest of us…"

"Yes, we've established that," Maysilee said smiling back, "but if you keep doing that…" she squeezed his leg, "I might act on it again. And you got hurt last time, remember?"

He laughed. The slap had stung, but it didn't hurt him. He then grinned.

"Try me again," he said, reaching down and moving her hand back to her own lap instead of his. He lingered, keeping her hand in his.

She grabbed onto his wrist with her other hand, to disengage their fingers, but it didn't happen. She looked menacing, and her mouth opened when the oh-too-recognizable and somehwat robotic voice filled the room.

"Haymitch Abernathy, District 12."

Haymitch sighed and stood up, still holding onto Maysilee's hand.

"Show 'em what you got," Maysilee said, nodding at him. He could've sworn she squeezed his wrist.

He nodded back and walked away, lingering slightly before he had to let go of her.

Once he entered the doors, he cracked his neck from side to side and walked to the middle of the big room. Various stations had been set up for the tributes to choose from. Some survivalist and some combat.

He looked up to the Gamemakers, none of them paying attention. They were eating and seemed heavily drunk.

"Haymitch Abernathy. District 12," he called out. One of the men turned, and nodded.

"Go on, boy," he said, the cup in his hand shaking, threatening to spill over his red suit. He was probably wasted by now, having to go through more than thirty other tributes.

Haymitch nodded, and looked over to the nearby wall that held every kind of weapon imaginable. In the corner there were tools that were found at the Survivalist stations in the training center. He kept his eyes on the weapons, and decided on the spears.

He had trained more with Leo throughout the week, as well as honing his knife skills, weight training, and sparring with Dylan. Cassie had called it right - there were whispers as the Tributes of District 12 trained and worked together.

He went forward and picked a slightly longer spear, testing the weight and balance in his hand as he stepped towards the platform and focused on his target. He took a breath, getting into the stance Leo had taught him so well before he threw it.

It hit one of the inner rings at a good spot, but wasn't on target.

He heard a few laughs and looked back at the Gamemakers. They hadn't even paid attention, focusing more on the food; but he noticed a few were still watching. Those must've been the ones that laughed.

He threw another spear, this time more on target, but when he looked back, nobody was watching him. He sighed and threw the rest of the spears available, hitting the various targets on the various mannequins, all inside the targets this time.

He stepped back after he threw the last one which hit right in the center of the chest on the mannequin furthest away.

He looked over to be dismissed, but they were all too distracted.

"May I continue?" Haymitch asked out of nowhere. Nobody made a notion to his existence.

Scowling, he wandered over to the knife table, and took a few in hand.

If they were too drunk to care, Haymitch wouldn't waste the time for more practice. After all, he had to wait to be dismissed, he couldn't just leave after showcasing his skill.

This time with the manikins, he got creative. One knife landed on a mannequins face, between the eyes. Another he threw at the heart. The third one landed in the throat of the farthest one away.

He looked back up at his audience, and saw that they still wren't paying attention.

He grinned and walked over to the survival tools, quickly throwing some wood together and starting a small fire. He gave his audience another glance, and knowing they still weren't interested, added more wood to the flame, the fire growing bigger.

He sauntered back to the knives this time, knowing that instead of scoring as he thought it would be - it was more time for him to train.

So as he threw each knife, in various yet targeted parts of the mannequins: wrists, elbows, ankles, he even went a little risque and got each mannequin in the crotch. He knew he wouldn't fight that dirty in the arena, but he had fun with it.

He had the last knife available in hand, aiming at a knee when he heard a shout. Haymitch threw the knife and turned to his apparently now captive audience, not bothering to see if he landed on target. They all had surprised or angry looks on their faces. The Gamemaker was only staring, an indescribable look on his face.

"You can go now. Thank you," the Gamemaker said. The others around him were staring wide eyed at the mannequins, as well as the large blazing fire.

Haymitch nodded, turned around - and left.

* * *

That night, Haymitch was the first on the sofa.

He chose the desert scene, his favorite. The landscape was so foreign yet somehow it comforted him. He was already in an unknown place... why not immerse himself in one that was quiet? That didn't remind him of his impending demise?

There were some weird looking trees that he had never seen before, but other than that, sand and rock stretched out into the distance and never ended. He expected a critter to pass by; in the other scenes he had tried there was always an animal or person that would come across the wall.

Then he heard a screech, something familiar, and he saw a big bird fly into the scene, circle a few times, then flap its wings and tuck them in to dive off the other side.

He smiled, remembering as he heard that screech whenever he went as far as the border fence to search for food.

It had scared him the first time he heard it – he had thought it was a Capitol transporter of some sort and he ran until he realized nobody was chasing him. He had gone back and listened for it again. He heard it a few more times and realized it was a bird when he saw something circling in the far distance, riding the air with grace.

"What was that?" Maysilee whispered right near him. He jumped slightly and shook his head at himself in disappointment.

Maysilee was creepily silent. She was usually there first on the sofa at night, but the first time he'd been there before her, she had crept up on him.

And she had just done it again.

He turned to meet her smiling gaze.

"Don't know the name, but I've heard that cry once outside the border, I know it's a big bird of some sort."

"The border?" she asked her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yeah, sometimes I had to go as far as the fence to try to catch something to eat."

"Oh."

She nodded, frowned, but then shook her head.

"What the hell did you do today? The mannequins had holes in off target places and it smelled like smoke, were you trying to be stupid?" she said quickly.

He raised an eyebrow, but wasn't surprised at how right she was.

He _did_ feel stupid in that room, giving his best and having none of the Gamemakers' attention, the people who literally had his life in their hands.

"I threw all the spears and they didn't even notice that I was finished. So I started throwing knives at the same mannequins using my own targets, started a fire in between, and they finally noticed I was there and I was dismissed."

"Well they obviously were impressed, they gave you a damn nine," she mumbled.

"Hey, an eight is no different! Half of the Careers got eights. You have the same score as them; you're going to be noticed," he said.

"Not when three other tributes have scores higher than you, one of them from the same District."

Haymitch sighed, and turned back to the desert scene.

He could only feel that he got lucky with that score. That if someone viewing his time during Scoring was sober enough to stop him after the last spear was thrown, he'd have gotten a much lower score. He had a reason to thank alcohol for that.

"What do you care about the scores, or your odds? You know in the Arena it doesn't mean a thing," he said.

He remembered the one year a twelve year old with platinum blonde hair had a 1-70 odds in the games, with no sponsors, and yet she survived up to the last three. Then her skills in hand to hand combat and quick learning with a machete lead to her victory, the youngest from District 4.

"Sponsors care, Haymitch. They're our lifeline."

"That's only half of the games."

"A big half. Medicine, food, we'll need help in the arena, against forty-seven others..."

He stayed silent, then spoke.

"I can't… I can't depend on that," he said finally.

He turned back to face her. Her hair was in a loose bun, and she was wearing the given pajamas that he was wearing as well, grey sweatpants and a black tank top.

"Why not?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Because the interviews are tomorrow and I can only really come off as… I dunno-"

"An asshole?" she asked.

He laughed, and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll come off as a jerk that won't get any sponsors."

"You never know. People might find it charming," Maysilee shrugged.

"Charming?" he asked inquiringly, grinning. She nodded, now silent.

"Well, you were the one that got Rose, after all," she said in a whisper, turning her head away.

He shook his head, confused on the subject. He'd left that behind, like he did everything else, except for Finn and his dad.

"She's too stupid for her own good. You know I broke it off after watching the Quarter Quell video? Just in case," he said. He then scoffed. "Probably damned myself by doing that."

Maysilee turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow, and then tilted her head. She then shook it, but didn't say anything.

He sighed. There wasn't that much to say. He knew he didn't damn himself; he was just an unlucky bastard who had to enter too many tessera to keep himself and his family alive.

"I'm going to go in, maybe more sleep will put me in a good mood," he said, standing up.

"Doubt it," Maysilee said, mirroring his thoughts as he walked to his room.

"Goodnight, May," he said, not turning back to see her reaction of the nickname. Though the fact that she didn't come barging after him, intent to hurt him, spoke volumes.


	6. The Interviews: Part 1

He was on deck.

He didn't feel that nervous, just a small sheen of sweat on his upper lip that he wept away with his jacket. It was a light grey coal color three-piece suit with black piping detail. Mackie had let his hair be its own mess, saying that it gave him a certain dangerous vibe.

He had never worn a suit before. He didn't understand the whole hype, really… until he had looked in the mirror.

It made him look completely different… and this time, in a good way.

It was the last girl from District 11 on the screen now. Haymitch recalled her being very efficient in knowledge of edible from poison plants, but she couldn't even hold an axe. She was sitting rigid in the chair as Caesar tried to coax her to respond with more than three word sentences. It didn't work out that well, so he ended it early, and there was little applause.

The Peacekeeper, in a black uniform instead of white and with no helmet, grabbed his arm and walked him to the stage.

He looked back at Dylan, Maysilee, and Maggie, and gave a salute before he turned to the stage, taking a deep breath.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, our first male tribute from District 12, Haymitch Abernathy!"

There was loud applause as he was pushed to start walking. The lights were blinding, but his eyes adjusted quickly enough for him not to trip over himself.

Cesar Flickerman was wearing a bright green suit, his hair matching in a short spiked fashion, reminding him of a porcupine. Haymitch restrained a smile at the ridiculous style and gave the interviewer a strong handshake before sitting down.

"Quite a handshake, Haymitch! I take it you are strong?"

Haymitch shrugged as he looked out to the colorful audience, and caught the eye of one of the many cameras. He gave a sly smile.

"You could definitely say that, Caesar."

The audience laughed, and Caesar smiled.

Cassie was right in telling him to play the nonchalant attitude.

"You're not here to play around, are you Haymitch?"

"No, no. I'm here to give an interview. You should be trying to play with me, Caesar!" he said, smiling. That got a laugh from Caesar, and more from the audience.

"So we know you're strong and confident, Haymitch. But, are you prepared?"

"Definitely. I'm not going down without a fight," he said. And he meant it.

During training, as he watched the Careers exceed in most of the fighting skills and some of the survival skills, every word Cassie had said really hit him.

He would die soon, unless he fought.

"Woah there, watch out everybody!" Caesar said, smiling at the camera. Haymitch just twitched the corner of his mouth.

Caesar turned back to Haymitch, his face changing to something serious.

"So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" he asked.

Haymitch shrugged. What he saw of everybody from training… they were all scared out of their minds, even if they hid behind a wealthy district… they all seemed detached from what was happening.

"I don't see that it makes much of a difference. They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same."

The audience burst out laughing, as well as Caesar, and Haymitch just grinned.

"Well then, without further ado, the Fighter of District 12, Haymitch Abernathy!" Caesar cried out. He grabbed his hand and pulled Haymitch to stand up. He then raised their joined hands in the air.

Haymitch smiled and gave a wave before he walked off the stage and was led by another man in another suit to a different room, where the District 12 crew was waiting.

Two were smiling, one was frowning.

The one frowning stepped forward.

"Haymitch Liel Abernathy, how dare you insult other tributes like that? It not only defies the games, it hurts the Capit- never mind that. I thought we agreed on no snarky comments for the interviews!" Clara said, her whiny voice in a different octave.

"Sush," Cassie said, not hiding her grin, "he was great. People enjoyed the confident attitude, the crowd loved him. What did I tell ya kid?" she said.

Haymitch smiled at her and gave her a nod, which she returned.

"It was a catch, definitely. Will get you remembered," Mackie said with a wide grin.

"They laughed, that had to be good, right?" Haymitch asked, hating that he sounded unsure of himself, as though he was asking for approval.

Cassie nodded. Clara sighed.

Mackie was already sitting on the sofa, sipping on a blue bubbly drink.

"You looked damn handsome in that suit, kid," she said, smiling. Her hair was shoulder length and light pink, and she had on a yellow and green polka-dotted dress.

"Thanks, Mackie, as always," he said.

"Nah, I didn't have to do much work this year, you boys sold it – I just dressed you all up. Such an attractive group. Such a - " she cut herself off, and took another drink. "Haymitch… it's your last night in the Capitol. Come and enjoy it," Mackie continued in a harsher tone.

He didn't argue the fact as he sat down next to Mackie and accepted the heavy glass she had poured him. He took a sip and winced at the sour taste; similar to the Scotch on the train, but he kept taking sips as he looked back at the screen to watch Dylan's interview.

He was in the same type of suit as Haymitch, but with a dark blue shade and forest green piping.

He was putting on an act, definitely. Haymitch had never seen the kid so talkative for the last week or so they spent together.

Dylan was only thirteen but was as almost as tall as Haymitch, making him seem stronger and more intimidating even though he was a quiet one. And outside of the training center where he bruised trainers in hand to hand combat, he was gentle everywhere; he'd even acknowledged an Avox one night, muttering a thank you as they took his plate away.

But he was using his physique to exaggerate himself in the interview now. Caesar was reporting of a few hurt trainers, and Dylan made a joke about their egos. It led to Dylan taking off his suit jacket and flexing his arms, showing his muscles straining his button down shirt. 

He was now making up a story about a girl back home. Caesar told him to stay strong; to win the games and get back to his love. As Dylan exited the stage, Haymitch couldn't help but laugh.

Mackie shrugged.

"I've seen the hurt lover act before. Sometimes it works."

Haymitch didn't say anything as he noticed Maysilee come onto the stage.

He tipped back the glass all the way, finishing the sour drink before he set it down, all the while keeping his gaze on the screen.

He noticed that she was still graceful and quick, even in a tight dark green silk dress that stopped at her knees. The color brought out her dirty blonde hair styled in soft waves, making it shine.

He couldn't help but watch her. He'd only seen her in the same clothes he was wearing, the standard uniforms for the tributes: black tank-tops and grey pants. And he hated himself as he watched her kiss Cesar's cheek before sitting down, smiling out at the audience - that it actually took this long for him to notice the girl he had put his trust in was so beautiful.

"You need to let it go, Mitch. Sooner better than later," Dylan's voice broke his concentration. He blinked, and looked to his right, where Dylan was indeed sitting next to him.

"Hey, that was a good interview," Haymitch said truthfully. Dylan only shook his head.

"Don't change the subject. You can't be looking at her like that during the countdown at the Cornucopia."

Haymitch tightened his jaw in anger. Dylan was bringing forth the thoughts that had been itching at that back of his mind ever since she had bumped into him while boarding the train.

She had only shrugged and said:

'Not gonna say sorry. Won't have to in a week or two, anyways.'

Long story short – he hadn't felt anything as close to Rose as he did towards the girl on stage now.

"Shut up, Dylan. You're good at that, aren't you?" Haymitch said, turning to face the kid. He only glared back.

"Well I thought I might as well say what I have to for as long as I can. After all, I'm not 'the fighter'," he said as he fell back and buried himself in the fluffy cushions of the sofa.

"I wasn't as charming as you though," Haymitch replied.

"Or her, either," Dylan said, grinning as he looked back at the screen, where Maysille was smiling and laughing along with Ceasar and the audience.

"Quite a story Maysilee! We'll be sure to keep an eye out for your quick wit! Something to look out for in the arena!"

Maysilee grinned.

"I hope so, Caesar."

"Aww, sweetheart, you're too kind! Ladies and gentlemen, Maysilee Donner from District 12!"

The applause was more than generous.

"Your crush might out-sponsor you, Abernathy," Dylan said.

Haymitch threw a punch at the kid's shoulder, grinning as the kid winced before he stood up.

"I'm going to head in. See you all tomorrow," he said as he headed for the elevator.


	7. The Interviews: Part 2

Once inside the elevator alone, he let out a few deep breaths, clenching his fists. He wasn't sure if he was either trying to calm himself or get in the game, amp up for what was to come tomorrow.

He was messed up.

He had been so calm, surprisingly so, after he got on the train. The daze of the crystal chandeliers and brightly colored food, furniture, and décor had put him in a different state, and he couldn't forget the buzz his mind felt after the second glass of the sour drink. On the outside he was his usual wry, crude humorous self while on the inside he was crying, screaming, begging the powers that be to let him go back to Finn and his dad and normal life - if what he lived could be considered normal - now that he'd had a glimpse of the Capitol.

But the first day of training, when he felt the impact of his body hitting the mat after a trainer flipped him over, it had all changed.

It was really happening – he was in these damned Games; and he had to fight it out. He didn't want to die.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to an empty Penthouse - even the Avox's were nowhere to be seen. He kept his head down, watching his feet take one step after another as he walked towards the sofa, dropping himself on the cushions. He lay down and stretched out his feet, letting out a big breath.

He was heading towards his death the next morning. He would wake up, get dressed in the appointed Tribute outfit for that year, and then sent to a Launch Room where he would enter the pod that would lift him up to the Arena.

Where he would face forty-seven other kids.

_Kids._

Thats what they were - even him. The youngest of them ten, the eldest eighteen. It all seemed inconceivable, kids entering a stage where they fought to the death, but it was all real. And to the Capitol, it was entertainment.

Three of them he had gotten to know for the past two weeks, and one of them had even given him a continuous nightmare that he would have to be the one to end her life.

When the elevator dinged again, his eyes shot open, staring at the crisp white ceiling above him.

He heard the 'click click' of heels across the hard floor of the suite and pegged it as Mackie, Clara, Maggie, or-

"What the hell? Couldn't wait for the rest of us, huh, ' _the fighter_ '?"

A second later Maysilee was leaning over the sofa looking down at him, her loose hair hanging down and draping her face, just barely touching his cheeks.

Haymitch blinked.

She walked around the sofa and flopped down right next to him, bouncing slightly on the nice cushions. He sat up straight, facing her.

"Well, I figured ' _the charmer_ '," he mimicked her same sarcastic voice, "would get more sponsors, so there was no reason for me to stick around."

"Please," she scoffed, fingering the hem of the dress. Haymitch followed her gaze and watched her delicate hands, more-so her long legs.

"It was just the dress and the few sips of 'courage' that Eva slipped to me before I went on," she said.

"I think it was more the dress," Haymitch muttered dazedly.

Maysilee's head snapped up to meet his gaze, looking surprised.

"And your hair," he continued, reaching forward with a shaking hand to touch it.

It was as soft as it looked. He leaned in close as he rubbed her hair between his fingertips, and he smiled even wider when he saw her cheeks turn pink. He took a deep breath, still feeling her soft hair, wanting her to pull away; willing her to pull away before he did something stupid.

But she didn't, she kept his gaze.

When the corner of her mouth twitched, he finally spoke; nothing left to lose.

"Listen. As of now, it's do or die, you know what I mean?" he asked, his voice low, his fingers going still. His other hand was reaching around to rest on the cushion near her hip, caging her in.

She didn't say anything, only gave a slight hint of a nod.

Haymitch nodded in return, and without a second thought leaned forward more, tilting his head until his nose nestled against hers, lips a breath apart. She smelled like vanilla and the sourness of the blue drink from before. He leaned forward more and brushed her lips with his, barely touching...

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

Haymitch pulled in a deep breath as he stood up, walking to an armchair across from the sofa. Maysillee kept her eyes closed for a split second more before opening them and meeting his gaze.

He gave her a grin, and her cheeks grew pink again as the rest of the District 12 'crew' joined them. Haymitch looked up to watch them all crowd around, either taking seats or standing. Dylan met his gaze, glancing between him and Maysilee before raising an eyebrow, which Haymitch ignored.

"A good round of interviews, I must say!" Clara said, her voice sounding not as usually nasally.

"Excellent, guys," Cassie said, smiling at all of them, "You each had an edge and a story. You got laughs, you weren't as stiff as half of them. Job well done."

"And you all looked amazing!" Mackie said. Eva, the designer for the girl tributes, more of the silent type nodded and smiled brightly as she rested a hand on Maggie's shoulder.

"A round of drinks, please!" Clara shrieked, waving a hand around in the air. Two Avox's rushed to fulfill her request, and soon everybody had a drink in their hands.

"I want to say one last thing before you all go to bed," Cassie said, and she raised her glass. Her face then changed; a straight line forming on her mouth, the smile gone.

"You are a strong group of tributes, and we all have hope for each of you. I am confident that you will fight and be strong, as you have shown me this past week or so. I wish you the best of luck tomorrow. Stand strong."

She then gulped down her whole drink.

Haymitch looked around, feeling as weird as the others looked. He then looked down at his clear drink, and thought what the hell. There was a possibility he was going to die tomorrow. Or the day after that…

He tipped his head back and gulped his drink down, it tasting bubbly sweet but sour at the same time. He sighed, the weird taste of what the Capitol had to offer now lost on him as he set the empty glass down. He looked at Maysilee, who was staring at him, her eyes inquiring. He sighed again, and looked away.

He couldn't deal with this. He was too stupid to even get near her.

If they crossed paths in the Arena and where it was life or death, Haymitch didn't want to have to choose.

He had to get out of there, and purge this girl from his mind before he went to his death tomorrow.

"Goodnight, everybody," he said, standing up. And without looking at any of them, he left to his room.

He shrugged out of his suit and didn't bother changing into his pajamas; he just slipped into bed and tried to fall asleep.

Soon after Dylan came in, and he silently got ready for bed and clicked off the light.

But Haymitch couldn't fall asleep.

He waited until the sounds from the main room stopped, and the lights all switched off.

He sat up in bed, cursing her name silently. And then cursed the memory of the damned look on her face when they were about to kiss. And then the worse one, after, when he acted indifferent after the others entered - as though her hope was lost.

He was going to need at least the start of a drink to help him sleep. He was off the the Games tomorrow. He needed the rest.

He got out of bed, hoping to get a drink quickly and bring it back to his room to have in bed. Since the rest had recently gone to bed, he suspected Maysilee would have to wait for Maggie to fall asleep if she decided to come out as well.

But of course she was already there in the main room.

However this time instead of on the sofa, watching the forest scene-scape, she was sitting sitting against the floor to ceiling windows on the far side of the room, the part facing the main square of the Capitol, the city's bright lights and festivities providing more light than the penthouses fixtures.

He faltered at the sight, and then headed towards the drinks.

He picked up the red liquid that Cassie had pointed out would make him feel sleepy. She called it Port.

"You want a glass? Cassie said it would help with sleeping," he said aloud.

"What the hell," he heard her say, and he grinned as he grabbed two glasses and filled them halfway. He carried them over and sat next to her, facing the windows as well.

He looked down onto a large courtyard that was filled with citizens as they cheered and watched clips of the interviews on large screens. They seemed so small from so high up.

"Cheering for our imminent death. How endearing," she muttered. She took the glass from Haymitch, brushing their fingers together, lingering before pulling back. She took a gulp and half smiled and nodded at Haymitch. He took small sip too, and looked down to the crowd.

"I was wondering earlier..." she started as she sipped the Port, "do you think Clara, Eva, Mackie, even the Gamemakers... you think they all just stay in a drunken state to avoid whats really going on in front of them?"

"Oh, I would never doubt that," he said as he laughed, raising his glass before taking another sip.

"Well, as I'm sure you know, it does the trick," she said, mirroring Haymitch.

"It really is just a game, for them," he said after a second or two.

"Don't you dare defend them," she said her voice lowered, obviously angry.

"I wasn't," he said, looking back up to meet her angry gaze. "I'm just trying to think like them. These people were raised here. They were raised to watch it as a game, not a slaughter of innocent kids," he explained.

"Why are you all of a sudden an anthropologist?" she asked, turning her body towards him.

"A what?" Haymitch asked, tilting his head.

She smiled, and shook her head.

"It was in a book I'd read. Those who tried to think objectively about other people and cultures."

"Objectively?"

"Looking at something from a different side – actually, from no side at all. An outside perspective, with no pre-judgment."

"Does this look like a face without judgement?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Then he shook his head. "I'm definitely not them, not trying to think like them, not trying to defend them. I'm just wondering what it must be like to live here and to see dying as a sport, as a _game_ , rather than something that happens every day, like back at home."

"None of it is right, Haymitch! Stop acting like the other side has a semblance of reason."

"I was saying anything but that! Do you think I've gotten used to the memory of my bloody mother after she was attacked for trying to interfere in a fight over a few coins? None of this makes any sense. Not back home, and never will it make sense to me here. These people make me want to punch, kick, and dismember them," he finished, his hands actually clenching and unclenching.

She only tilted her head.

"Too bad we think so much alike," she said softly. Haymitch unintentionally leaned forward.

"Like I said, for them it's a game. But for us… it's our life. Our being," he whispered.

She looked down as their knees touched. He had moved forward again, and he wanted to say sorry, but instead said something completely different.

"That dress…" and May's head snapped up to meet his eyes, her gaze confused. "It… it will definitely help you get more sponsors."

Her head inched forward, and he continued.

"That and how you were yourself."

At that, her eyebrow twitched slightly, but she leaned forward a slight inch more, their knees dropping, hers on top of his.

"We all were pretending, putting on a mask… but you were just... you," he continued.

She shook her head.

"Look who's talking? You just set Caesar at ease, and explained who you really were-"

"A coward who's putting up a front-"

"A fighter… like me. Even though I didn't get pegged the name."

He smiled back and opened his mouth to speak, but then a loud cheer from the crowd down below made him lean away and look down to see what was happening.

They were cheering her name. The girl from District 1; one of the two blondes who had targeted him on the first day of training.

Remy.

"She's a bad fish," Maysilee said, taking a small sip of the drink this time.

Haymitch smiled.

"I have to say I agree," he said.

"We should both stay away from her in the Arena."

"Oh, I was actually thinking of making her an ally," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Seems smart: get cozy enough, then when she's sleeping…"

"You know the meaning of sarcasm, right?" he asked, leaning forward again to catch a whiff of her vanilla scent and see her expression of embarrassment at her jealousy up close.

He had actually hoped it was jealousy.

"When talking about tomor-" she started, but he closed the gap between them, and nestled his cheek against hers, stopping her.

"Don't, May…" he whispered right in her ear. He couldn't help it anymore; he needed to be close to her, to be touching her.

Like he had said earlier, it was now or never.

He felt her shiver, and he smiled. He pulled back enough so their noses barely touched. He needed to see her blue eyes this close when he had no more chances to.

"I shouldn't be thinking about this… damn you," she whispered, her eyebrows furrowing.

He smiled but reached to grasp her arm and rest his other hand on her back to keep her close and rest his forehead against hers. They both took in a collective breath before Maysilee pulled back slowly.

"The Games are tomorrow," she whispered.

His heart churned but he nodded.

"They are."

"Get some rest. Goodbye, Haymitch," she said before turning away and walking out of the room. Goodbye. Not a see you later, or even see you tomorrow. 

Because the next time they saw each-other, it would be kill or be killed. 

"Goodbye, Maysilee," he whispered back though he knew she probably didn't hear it. 

He turned to look back out the window at the crowd below, cheering as replays of the Interviews began. It helped him get in the right mind-set again. 

The Capitol calls them games. But it would be life or death, and he was sure as hell if he did go down, he'd go down swinging. 


	8. The Games: Day 1

Mackie was the one to wake him up.

She didn't say anything as he got out of bed. He looked over to see that Dylan and even the bed he slept in were both gone.

She held a package wrapped in plastic, resting it on the now empty bed before unwrapping it, the plastic crinkling making the awkward silence even worse.

She turned her back as Haymitch changed into the underwear. Haymitch gave a grunt to signal it was clear, and she turned back and handed the garments over, still silent, which was unlike her.

He pulled on khaki cargo pants with a built-in belt and multiple pockets. They felt light, which he liked. He then put on a white tank top, and eyed the dark grey shirt.

"Usually it's navy or black; why grey?" he asked.

Mackie shrugged.

"Maybe the Quell has that color; I've only done this a few years. Here are the shoes; they're top notch this year."

She was right. He smiled as he strapped up the black boots that had a light feeling, springy with sturdy soles and small straps all around to hold weapons, he assumed.

"Time to go," Mackie said, and they walked out to the main room of the Penthouse, where Cassie was waiting for them.

Mackie stopped him with an arm to his shoulder and he turned towards his designer, the woman that helped transform him - materialistically - for the Capitol, but had acted with poise and respect for his situation, unlike some others who treated it all like a pageant of sorts.

"You've got... drive. You're a smart-ass, but the first word of that term is 'smart' for a reason, kid. If I ever sunk so low to place bets in these games, this time around, I'd put money on you," she said softly, keeping his gaze.

He blinked, but nodded, surprised yet humbled and even driven by her comments.

"Thank you. Really. For everything. I'd never worn a suit before," he said.

At that her eyes got wet.

"Jesus kid, you can't say things like that," she said, her voice shaky but she smiled anyways and lightly slapped his cheek as a mother would, which had his heart skipping a beat.

"Go get 'em."

He nodded and walked towards Cassie who wordlessly turned and they boarded the elevator, the doors closing behind them without it's usual 'ding'.

She pushed against the wall, a small flap popping open. She brought out what looked like a regular key and inserted it into slot, opening yet another small flap, which revealed a button. After she pressed it the elevator finally made a 'dinging' noise and instead of descending, he felt the cart ascend at a rather rapid speed - unusual for an elevator.

The doors soon opened to sunlight, and Haymitch followed Cassie's quick steps towards a hovercraft, powered up but grounded as it took up most of the space on the roof.

"Haymitch," Cassie said, turning and grabbing his shoulders.

He looked up at her, anxious for her last words to him.

"Why are you fighting?"

He blinked. He wasn't expecting a question.

"Why are you fighting?" she repeated, "When that gong sounds, you're fighting for your life. Why are you going to fight?"

He tucked his lips in, setting his mouth straight.

"Finn, my dad."

She nodded, and reached up to grab his head, her palms closing over his cheeks, holding him tight.

"Remember that, Haymitch. Focus on what keeps you alive. Good luck."

"Thank you," Hamyitch whispered, a heated feeling running down his spine as he nodded.

Cassie only gave a short nod back as she dropped her hands.

"Time to go."

He straightened his back and walked the rest of the way onto the hovercraft alone, turning as the back hatch closed, his vision of Cassie standing on the roof, hands in her pockets, staring right back at him, until all he could see was a black metal door.

A Peacekeeper barked at him to sit down and he moved to the only empty seat available as he stared at his feet, barely acknowledging the other Peacekeeper that came and injected a tracker into his arm.

He didn't feel the pain, only the cold hard metal against his skin.

He didn't hear anything except the hum of the Hovercraft's motor.

He didn't feel anything except Cassie's last words to him flowing through him.

_'Focus on what keeps you alive.'_

* * *

After being led down a hall that had seemed to last forever, the two Peacekeepers on guard who flanked him soon came to a stop before a door with a large '12' painted on the wall next to it.

They stood still, unmoving and silent, and Haymitch turned to look at each of them before looking at the door.

"Fine, I'll do it myself then," he muttered loudly, glad that he could still joke even though his mind and body were a combined mess, and he turned the knob, his hands shaking as he entered.

It was a small, light blue room with a large glass cylinder in the middle - the platform that would lift him up to the Arena.

The platform wasn't a surprise - however the person waiting for him in the room was.

"Hey, Hay," Leo said, faintly grinning, his hands in his pockets. The name was a joke between them ever since Haymitch introduced himself.

"Hi," Haymitch replied slowly.

He honestly didn't know who to expect when he opened the door, he actually thought he would be alone.

He was glad it was Leo there. During training, Haymitch had made sure to end his days at Leo's station. And while he learned how to create makeshift weapons, and destroyed the provided mannequins with the provided spears, learning all the while about stance, balance, the right arc for a throw and the pivotal moment of release for hitting a target - Leo and Haymitch had somewhat became friends. Haymitch didn't really know the concept really, but he wanted at least one friend before he died.

And he was here.

"Uh, here's your jacket," Leo said, turning and taking the said jacket off the hook. It was black with a green lining, had a box frame buckle attached, a hood with cords, and even more pockets.

"Is there going to be snow or something?" Haymitch asked, ignoring his own shaky voice as he slipped it on, feeling warmth even though it was light fabric. He clicked the belt closed, making it snug but not tight.

"Let's hope not. Don't want to be mauled by a Yeti in the first few hours," Leo replied. That got a grin from Haymitch.

" _Prepare for launch,_ " a female voice filled the room. Then it started counting down from sixty seconds.

"Head up, kid," Leo said, stepping close to him.

"Thanks."

Leo nodded and Haymitch turned and walked towards the clear cylinder with the platform.

"Any other last words?" Haymitch asked as he stepped in and turned around. The cylinder closed around him and he restrained from putting his hands against the glass.

"LIVE!" Leo yelled, but Haymitch only heard it faintly. The scared look Leo had didn't comfort him; then suddenly, Leo smiled, and nodded his head.

Haymitch wanted to ask what the hell that look was supposed to mean, but couldn't find his voice.

There was a click, and then the ground was moving beneath him, rising. He gave a last glance to Leo, who was still smiling. The look on his favorite trainer's face was the last thing he saw before there was complete darkness. A few more seconds, and then he felt fresh air.

He took in a deep breath as bright white light surrounded his senses, his sight, touch, even smell - it all seemed so... white. Bright.

The platform stopped moving and he blinked, his vision coming into focus as he breathed in the fresh air, such fresh air he'd never breathed before. Back at home there was the mines, the Seam, too many people crowded into a small space.

He heard the Head Gamemaker's voice announce the Quarter Quell, but he was still trying to adjust his eyes. It only took a few more seconds.

The first thing he saw was the Cornucopia. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the golden structure that sat in a green meadow with wildflowers all around. Inside and even at the mouth were weapons, packs, water jugs, backpacks, food, everything needed to survive in the Games. All there, ripe for the picking as soon as the countdown ended.

He noticed one or two different packs that he would try to get, close to the edge. Cassie had said not to try the Cornucopia - that it was suicide - but Haymitch was a fast runner and he knew if he aimed for a backpack on the edge, he could grab it and keep running to avoid the first bloodbath.

_Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…_

The field was almost endless, a large clearing surrounded by trees that Haymitch noticed had low hanging branches- perfect for cover. He looked around, noticing that the tributes were spaced a little closer than usual, but not close enough to give too an unfair advantage. But if the boy on the platform next to him wanted to attack him when the countdown ended, it would only take a few running strides. Though with the odds doubled, Haymitch doubted anyone would be that stupid.

However the boy on the platform next to him seemed distracted. He was sniffing the air, and looking at the bright blue sky full of big white clouds. He was still blinking, shielding his eyes from the bright sun.

_Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve…_

Haymitch looked around and saw that most of the tributes seemed disoriented; still blinking at the bright sun or staring at the snow capped mountains in the distance. Others just seemed dazed, mesmerized by the sight. He frowned, confused.

_Ten, nine, eight…_

His gaze searched the platforms before he found her - Maysilee, who had her eyes square on the Cornucopia. She was squatting slightly, as though ready to jump from her platform.

That's when it clicked - were the other tributes so unused to this environment? Fresh (more than normal) air, trees, grass... was that the reason for their delayed reaction? He knew the outer Districts had forest around them... had the other tributes not ventured?

_Seven, six..._

Haymitch glanced around at the other tributes and saw both Dylan and Maggie, both unperturbed by their surroundings, both looking around just as confused as he was at the other Tribute's reactions.

_Five, four…_

He shook his head - time to focus on the now - and stared at a large backpack that was bulging, the zippers barely holding it together, leaning against the mouth of the Cornucopia. Bullseye. 

_Three, two…_

A large gong sounded, reverberating through the ground, and Haymitch was off - sprinting straight towards the backpack, keeping his eyes on the target. He knew he was faster and had at least a few more seconds on the rest of the Tributes during their distracted state. That was all he needed.

And even though he knew there were three other tributes that weren't as affected as the others - he didn't pay attention to them and instead kept his mind on one goal: get whatever he could and then get the hell out of there.

He grabbed the pack and but then decided to search for weapons, taking a risk to enter the Cornucopia itself but knowing he had an advantage over the confused Tributes. He grabbed a spear and a large knife as big as his forearm that had its own harness. He grabbed two smaller knives and held them both in his hand as he ran back to the entrance. The others were now closing in, the Careers in the lead.

He gave smile and a wave to Remy who let out a scream and tried sprinting faster; but she was far enough for him to get away as he ran straight to the woods to get some cover.

He stopped a short while in and slipped the two small knives he had grabbed into his boot before he started climbing a tree; wanting to find out if he could watch the bloodbath, find out his competition beforehand. He stopped when he got near the top, and squinted as he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and looked towards the Cornucopia.

He already saw a few bodies in the grass, far ahead from the Cornucopia - which meant that there were Tributes that decided to fight hand to hand before starting with weapons - and more Tributes were fighting. They were too far away for him to notice who was who, just bodies moving and attacking and killing one another.

He did notice others running away from the Cornucopia empty handed, most likely following their Mentor's advice.

None of them, or the bodies on the ground that he could notice, had the same colored jacket from his district. He sighed and turned away, resting his back on the trunk of the tree, catching his breath, shaking his head as to why he was noticing such a detail.

He was still breathing.

He wanted to smile at such a victory - that he was lucky enough to reach the Cornucopia to retrieve the necessary supplies and weapons to give him a fighting chance... but he couldn't bring his lips to move from their perpetual frown.

He waited a few more seconds before he climbed down the tree, slipping once or twice but eventually finding his feet on the ground. He figured out the harness for his large knife - almost a machete - and buckled it around his waist before he started sprinting. He ran for a count of ten minutes in his head and then switched to walking. After the rest of a slower pace he switched back to running and then stopped near a flat rock that he climbed and sat on, giving him partial high ground, setting his spear next to him in case he needed to reach it easily.

He uncurled his arm from one of the straps of his backpack, bringing it to his lap as he opened the zippers and started inspecting the contents.

The smaller front packet held a small flashlight and a box with gauze, bandages, and a small tube of ointment.

The next pocket had two thin blankets rolled tightly, the material seeming waterproof. There was an extra pair of socks, a bag of dried fruit and one of dried meat, an aluminum bottle filled to the edge with water - which he took a generous sip of before twisting the cap back on - and a leather water skin that was empty. The last he saw was one more knife, like the ones in his boot, that he had practiced throwing during his scoring.

He slipped the third knife into his boot, clipped the empty leather skin to his jacket, and slipped the bag of dried meat into one of the jacket pockets. If he lost his pack at least he would have enough to help him survive. He couldn't rely on the backpack, he had to rely on what he had, just like he did at home.

He took a deep breath in and stood up as he let it out and grabbed his spear.

He then started jogging. He had a higher possibility of crossing paths with other Tributes if he stuck around close to the entrance of the woods - which he didn't want. He figured the more he avoided the others, they would take care of each other, lessening the number of tributes that he had to eliminate - if he even made it that far. Even he knew so early on that any plan was only wishful thinking.

He was at least fifteen minutes in when the first blast of the cannon surprised him. He tripped, catching himself on a nearby tree.

He straightened and waited as he counted each blast until it was silent again.

Eighteen.

That meant twenty-nine left.

He decided to rest and sat on the ground, sticking the spear upright next to him and resting the backpack on his other side. He took another sip of water, and felt the weight of the bottle after. He would have to ration until he could find a source, or until it rained. He felt hungry, but knew he could last until the next afternoon for food - as was usally his case at home. He almost laughed. Him being in District 12, starving and having to cave in to add his name to the Reaping... it could help him in the long run. Who'd've thought?

He hadn't crossed any critters yet, but he heard the songs of birds, which meant there had to be more animals. He would hunt later - until he had to. He had to conserve as much energy as possible for any fights that could come his way.

He knew he would survive until then; in fact with his pack, he could survive at most a week or more if he didn't run into anybody else. But even if he did, he hit the jackpot at the Cornucopia; if he missed with his spear, he had the three knives to work with.

He still worried about what it would be like to kill a human being... but pushed it to the back of his mind.

He sighed, and stood up again. He needed a plan.

He heard a rustle nearby, and dropped to the ground, hidden behind a bush as he looked around.

A young girl with wavy red hair came into view. She was holding onto her right arm, blood spilling out from beneath her fingers. She was shaking, and by the pasty color of her skin and the flow of blood from her wound; she was dying. She was just a girl, he estimated maybe ten years old.

She looked around, cried out in distress as she looked to the sky, and disappeared to the left.

He stood up and ran an opposite direction from her, eventually slowing to a jog.

The canon blasted a couple of minutes later.

Twenty-eight left.

Switching between jogging and walking, he waited until twilight to stop and take a rest at a clearing, finding his resting ground. This arena had it all, he thought, his lips quirking as he imagined Clara's voice listing the many aspects: "Wildflowers, rocks, trees, great white mountains, many bushes and tall grass, and clear blue skies with great white clouds! Such great things, the Capitol has to offer!"

He spared himself a sip of water before he brought out his larger knife and hacked at as many branches he could find or reach. He sat down on a cluster of large rocks, and piled the branches on top of him, lying under the pile on his side so he could keep his pack on and hold his spear in both hands.

He had just closed his eyes when he heard the anthem.

He sat up, pushing the branches away as he looked up at the Capitol Seal floating in the sky.

A picture appeared, a boy from District 3, followed from a picture of a girl from the same district. The pictures kept coming, one after the other. He watched it all, until the picture of a girl form District 11 disappeared from the sky, fading into the Capitol seal before the anthem stopped playing and the picture faded, showing the bright starry sky with the big white clouds still in sight.

He grabbed the branches as he lied down again, bringing the branches on top of him, hiding himself well.

So Dylan, Maggie, and Maysilee were still alive. He hated that it made him relieved.

Even worse, he fell asleep with the image of Maysilee on the platform at the Cornucopia. The look on her face was how he felt: ready to die, but not without a fight.


	9. The Games: Day 2

The songs of birds woke him up.

He opened his eyes slowly, the sunlight peeking through the branches he had piled himself under, his mind still unsure of his surroundings.

However the laugh of a boy raised him from his sleepy state and made him realize where he was: the Games.

He stayed still, his hand clenching around the his spear as he turned his head to look out into the clearing, his vision limited by the leaves.

It was a second or two before a boy and a girl came into view. They each had a backpack, but the girl was holding a knife.

"Remember? He was squealing like a little girl! 'Oh please, don't kill me!'" the boy said, laughing and smiling.

"What else do you expect when you fight at the Cornucopia?" the girl replied, shaking her head. They took a few more steps until the girl suddenly stopped, but smiled and held up a hand.

"What?" the boy asked. The girl kept her hand still outreached, her pointer finger straight.

After a second or two, through the branches Haymitch watched a bright and surprisingly big green butterfly flutter around the clearing, circling around the girl before landing on the her finger.

"Such a wuss, 7," the boy said, shaking his head but still stepping forward to look at it, the both of them as though in awe. Haymitch's mind reeled about District 7; they dealt with lumber so seeing wildlife was most likely rare for them - since they were chopping everything down. He even saw a glint of an axe in the girl's other hand.

"I've never seen one so big like this," the girl muttered, mirroring Haymitch's thoughts, his eyes flying back to the abnormally large butterfly. Even though the insect was magnificent, something in the back of his mind told him it was a mirage; it was trouble. 

"Well, let it fly away, we need to keep moving," the boy said as he looked around, keeping an eye on his surroundings.

Haymitch kept his eye on the girl, and suddenly the insect's wings stood still for a beat and the girl cried out, shaking her hand as the butterfly resumed flight. She dropped to her knees, cradling her hand.

The butterfly spiraled upwards before floating down onto the boy's bare arm as he stumbled towards his companion, not paying attention. Its wings went still for another moment, and then he was also crying out in pain and falling to the ground.

"What the hell?" the girl gasped, now lying on the ground, her body convulsing.

"This thing is poisonous!" the boy cried.

They'd realized it too late.

Haymitch sat up, pushing the branches away. He slowly stood up, using the spear as leverage as he looked around him, confirming they were alone. He'd slept on his side so he only slowly climbed down the rocks, keeping his eyes on the boy and girl now writhing on the ground.

He wished he could do something, but the rate that these two were turning white made him pessimistic. And based on their talk, they didn't seem too distraught about killing, so he was even able to momentarily void himself of any remorse.

"Please," the boy cried, reaching out a shaky hand, which dropped as his body started to convulse, white foam emitting from his mouth.

Haymitch shook his head yet didn't move.

"Please," the girl said this time. She lifted her arm, holding the axe out to him, handle first. An invitation to kill them both.

Haymitch looked down, shaking his head again.

"I'm sorry."

It took everything he had to turn around and walk away, ignoring the cries and yells and moans of the tributes dying behind him. They'd laughed about the cries their victims gave before killing them. He'd let them die with their own cries.

When the two cannons sounded a little later, he didn't even falter in his step.

Twenty-six left.

A minute or two after, he stopped.

He then started unzipping his pants, knowing the cameras would stop following him if he was about to relieve himself… he took this short private time to give himself a few seconds to close his eyes tight and push back the tears, dropping his head. His first deaths, not even at his own hand, and he was reacting like _this_? Barely able to hold himself together?

He took a few deep breaths, and opened his eyes. He zipped his pants, fastened the buckle and then headed back towards the kids in a quick jog. Both of them had packs, they had to have something of use in them.

He reached their bodies and stopped. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but he wasn't so sure now.

Dead.

They were dead.

All because of a fucking butterfly. Probably an invention of the Gamemaker's - Mutts.

He remembered Cassie saying something about viewer interest - the shorter the games were, the more 'unexpected deaths', the more threats - the more the viewers (outside of the Capitol) stayed loyal, keeping with the games past the first two days. And even when the games went too long... Mutts would also come into play.

The boy was on his stomach, so Haymitch could open the zippers easily and not disturb the body.

There was a pack of sunflower seeds and dried beef, and two empty bottles. He took the food and left the bottles, not needing the extra weight. The girl's pack was filled with dirt and leaves, which left him confused.

He looked around, and his gaze found the snow capped mountains in the distance, peeking above the tree-line.

He didn't know why, but he had a bad feeling about them, especially the tallest peak, higher amongst the others. His plan was to keep as far away from it as possible. With the mountains at his back, he started to jog.

This way, he might even reach the end of the arena - it had to end sometime, it had to have a boundary...

He waited until the sun was at his back, the sunlight barely hidden by the branches of the high trees of the forest before he stopped to take a rest.

After many inner debates, outweighing the good with the bad, the negative and positive outcomes; Haymitch decided to take a chance and check to see if the Cornucopia was abandoned or not - a chance to get more supplies.

He had already gone through one of his bags of dried fruit, and was chewing on the sunflower seeds now. And his water was almost empty. He needed to find a source of water or at least hope there was more at the Cornucopia.

He took a different route on his way towards the center of the arena, moving far to the right before he retraced the direction he came from. He rested every half hour on a low tree branch, knowing the area would be populated by twenty six others who wanted his life.

It was after two hours before he heard a group of voices. Thankfully he had the time to jump up a nearby tree and climb onto the second branch, leaving him hidden but giving him enough visual to see who he was racing against.

He counted ten figures move beneath him.

No surprise, the leader of the group was Slater, one of the Careers from District 2.

He had a larger than usual build, with buzz cut black hair and muscles that popped out with veins. He had on a backpack and was armed to the teeth, a bow slung across his shoulder and a sword and axe in each hand. He must have done very well at the Cornucopia; not with just gathering weapons, but getting such a large group of alliances.

"Let's keep moving towards the mountain. Set up camp at the top, have a better view of everything," he said in a low and stern voice, "not everyone could make such a climb," he continued in a tone, as though warning those amongst him that they would be left behind, or worse - seen as expendable - if they couldn't keep up, "Double the advantage."

The rest didn't answer; they just continued to follow him.

Haymitch waited a few minutes after they passed before he dropped from the tree and made his way towards the Cornucopia, keeping an eye on the group. He rushed beside them, staying quiet and keeping his distance, but doing so quickly, needing to get to there before they reached the Cornucopia and raided it of the very supplies he was after - supplies to last him long enough so the other tributes killed each-other as he waited for the numbers to die down.

He figured the less he head to come face to face to kill the better.

He reached the Cornucopia in good time. He found a few bags of fruit and was able to save one or two apples that weren't rotten. He went towards the back and saw a few large jugs of water labeled H20. He wanted to take two but after picking the first one up he knew he wouldn't be able to lug them both away in time. He frantically looked around for smaller containers, to transfer the water but didn't find any - and he couldn't take the time to fill up what he had, it was too much of a risk as it was. He took a deep breath and grabbed one of the large containers, box-like with a handle.

He moved to mouth of the Cornucopia and peeked out. Nothing yet. He went out the mouth and crept along the outer side.

That's when he heard the shriek of a girl.

He turned, worried that the Career had already decided to off one of the weaker members of his alliance, but instead watched Slater pinching a girl's ass, grinning wickedly. The two had stumbled ahead of the group and into the clearing, but weren't paying attention to anything, which included him.

Haymitch picked up the carton and booked it to the trees. He made it far enough into the brush, just in time it seemed; he looked back and saw the rest of the group emerge into the clearing.

He stayed, half hidden behind a tree as he watched the whole group entered the Cornucopia, foraging for weapons and supplies before congregating at the mouth, waiting for what Slater had to say.

"Set some traps, 8, I remember noticing you were good at those during training. Make sure anybody who enters this thing doesn't leave alive," Slater said, as though giving an order to an Avox rather than asking assistance from an ally.

'8', a smaller boy with curly red hair silently nodded, his jumpy demeanor a clear sign that he was forced into this alliance rather than given a chance. He grabbed some wire out of his pack and started to mold and manipulate a booby trap in the mouth of the Cornucopia as Slater cleared his throat.

"Let's move on to the mountain."

Haymitch watched 8 closely, using the trees for cover as he moved to a better view to see where the kid was setting the traps, which nick in the wire would either set the trap to kill, or the others that would only do slight harm.

The boy took a little while, enough for the group to get a head start. He finished one last tie of the wire and stood, his head turning frantic as he looked around and saw he had been left behind. He shook his head and then started running towards the mountains, almost desperate to get back to the group even though he had been given an easy way out.

Too bad the kid would end up dead soon. The Careers were always ruthless to the lower districts. Fear was a greater drive than most, even survival, it seemed.

He waited a minute or so and was about to leave to go further into the forest when he saw something from the other side of the clearing.

Another kid was running towards the Cornucopia, light on his feet, jumping around as though he suspected mines... but knew there weren't any since Slater and his crew had leisurely walked through... then the kid stopped just short of one of the first wires.

He then proceeded to jump past each trigger of the trap, and reached the entrance of the Cornucopia.

Haymitch watched in amazement as the boy smiled in triumph and started to walk forward. Then Haymitch noticed a small glisten and saw it was more wire…

He wanted to call out to save the boy but was too late; the kid kept his pace and tripped the wire. There was a loud snap and a small knife came flying out. The knife lodged itself in the boys head and his body fell limp as it crumbled to the ground.

Haymitch let out a sob before he could contain it and stumbled on his feet to sit on the water carton, closing his eyes tight.

Despite the attitude he had embraced the second he boarded the train from District 12, despite ignoring the other Tributes during training while eyeing the competition from the corner of his eye, despite... _everything_ he had tried to do to prepare his mind and body for what he was going to encounter; nothing could have prepared him for this.

Not Cassie, not Leo or any of the other gym trainers… not even the grotesque citizens of the damned Capitol, treating this like a real game, as _entertainment_.

He took a couple of breaths and then moved to stand up at the sound of the cannon. He took a final deep breath and went to filling his water bottles and water-skin, leaving the box much lighter to carry around. But since there wasn't evidence of another source of water, he decided to hang onto it - despite the weight. He needed it to survive. It was a willing sacrifice. 

He turned and started running back into the woods.

Where he should have stayed.


	10. The Games, Day 2 (Part 2)

Only after a couple minutes of running did Haymitch hear yet another cannon blast.

He continued on, ignoring the sound this time. As though it didn't burden him, knowing that another kid had died or more likely killed.

However after minutes of silence, he heard his name. He faltered and tripped, rolling on the ground. He pushed himself up, catching his breath as he sat on the forest ground, checking out his surroundings; he was alone.

Was he already going crazy?

It wasn't a rare occurrence - tributes losing their minds in the arena. From what he remembered, in previous Games tributes had gone slightly insane, either from dehydration or malnutrition, or even from spending too much time alone. Each had found a creative way to off themselves, only after they hunted a few other tributes.

He hadn't killed anybody yet; he was hydrated and full from his green apple that tasted legendary. Absentmindedly he grabbed a few sips of water, refilling the water he drank with the larger container. But then he heard his name again.

"Haymitch?"

He thought he recognized the voice, but couldn't place it. He looked around but didn't see anything but trees and brush.

"Haymitch!"

That was definitely not in his head. He stood up, putting his bottle away as he looked around, gingerly dropping his water carton...

"Yes! Haymitch!"

He followed the voice, a female. Did many tributes remember his name? He stopped.

Was this a trap?

"Please, Haymitch…" the voice faded to a whisper, and then he finally recognized the voice.

The mouse, Maggie. Quiet yet observant, listening but not saying anything; but her laughter along with Maysilee's at night was also unforgettable. He was still surprised they had found something so amusing during a time of such distress. She was quiet, but caring. She mentioned flaws that Dylan and he had at the fire starting station and even went out of her way to help them.

"Haymitch!" she called out again.

And then he found her.

She was lying against a tree, her covered in green camouflage amongst the brush, confusing him as to where she had gotten the materials before he saw the backpack at her side, it's contents of paints strewed on the ground. 

There were two knives lodged in her chest and stomach, the wounds bleeding freely, staining her shirt along with the paint. There was a sheen of sweat on her face, and her skin was pale even underneath the paint.

"Hey," she said, trying to smile but wincing instead.

"Maggie…" he whispered as he ran and sat down next to her. She reached out and grabbed his arm.

Her skin was so cold he almost flinched, but held himself together.

"Maggie... what happened?"

"Hey, I lasted this far though, right? That's something to talk about, especially for our district," she whispered, her voice waning in and out, her eyes drooping and then blinking awake.

She was fading quickly.

"Who was it?" he croaked, barely able to look at her.

"It was a blur, but I think I saw the Career, the blonde… she was with three guys… but I think I got one of them."

So Remy had alliances. Haymitch frowned.

"Thanks for staying with me…" she said, and he focused back on her. He grasped her arm and wanted to pull back at the coldness, but held on anyways.

"I'm sorry, Maggie," he whispered.

She only shook her head. She opened her mouth to say something, but it was lost as her eyes rolled back and her head dropped to the side.

He looked away from the sight of her lifeless body and found she had a bow and arrow in her other hand… That was all she had along with the paint. He couldn't remember if she had trained in weapons...

That thought alone made him want to scream. 

_'Trained in weapons.'_

That she even had to train in the first place. _Practice_ so that she didn't have to die... for what reason?

He pulled the bow from her hands and crossed her arms over her lap, closing her eyes and pulling her hair away from her face. He stood up slowly, staring down at her lifeless body. He winced at the sight of her body stuck with knives and then bent down again, closing his eyes and trying to block out the sound her lifeless body made as he pulled them out and tossed them as far as he could. 

He then stood up again and turned before starting a sprint. 

He ran for as long as he could, not wanting to be there when the hovercraft arrived.

This time he faltered when he heard the canon... he stopped short and felt his stomach churn. 

When the sun started setting, Haymitch climbed onto a branch and rested, taking a small bite or two of a snack and a few gulps of his water.

He was catching his breath when he heard a snap of a twig. He stopped still, and looked down, wondering who it was this time.

His heart twitched when he saw her walking slowly, her blonde hair in a loose bun, her head looking back and forth as she held a bamboo stick in one hand, a knife in the other, a small pack resting on her back.

He wanted to call out her name, just to see her face, but he resisted.

He almost sighed, but held his breath. She kept walking, and when she was out of sight, he jumped down. He looked in the direction she went for a while, almost willing her to come back.

When she didn't, he turned a little to the right and ran at a slant, away from trouble.


	11. The Games: Day 3, 4, 5

Haymitch woke, crawled out from under the fallen tree he'd slept under for cover, and chewed on a piece of dry meat before he started walking.

His mind couldn't help but go back to Maysilee and what weapon that bamboo stick was supposed to be. Or maybe it was her source of food?

A small chatter stopped him in his tracks. An animal. His food supply was running down... if he skinned the meat, it wouldn't be too much weight, and he could use one of his unused blankets to strap it to the jug of water he still carried. He felt as though he had traveled the entire width of the Arena execept the mountains and hadn't found a source of water. WHich made him think it had been done deliberatley. 

No water for thirsty and dying tributes led to a better Game for the audience.

He shook his head. He wasn't here for the audience.

 _"Why are you fighting?"_ he heard his mentor's voice echo in his mind.

He took a deep breath and centered his mind before bent down and grabbed a knife from his boot. He looked around and finally found the source of the sound.

A squirrel with soft golden fur and a luxurious tail, bigger than he had seen back at District 12, was staring right back at him on its hind legs, its nose twitching as it stared right at him.

"Hey little guy," Haymitch said, smiling and loosening his tight grip on his knife. This thing he could easily catch with his hands, therefore not ruining the body - more meat.

But then it let out a shriek and jumped, flying right at his face.

It latched onto his cheeks and he yelled out at the claws digging into his skin. He grabbed it, pulling it off his face and threw it, almost smiling at its cry of distress. That's when he felt a weight on his leg, and looked down.

There were more of them - a lot more of them - and they were quick.

Haymitch pulled the unused knife from the harness around his waist and started swinging as fast as he could, his pain and anger accelerating his speed. He heard squeals and cries but kept chopping; bending down as he grabbed another knife from his boot with his other hand. Even as he felt one scratch deep into his arm, and one on his neck, he kept fighting.

He felt two fly onto his back, and he dropped down to the ground, squishing them as he rolled two times and then jumped back up. He shook his legs, not feeling any of them on his body, and started running. He heard chatter and clucks and squeals following him, but he kept going.

He didn't know how long he ran, but the sounds of the rabid squirrels decreased, though some were adamant to follow him.

He reached a small clearing and turned both knives in his hands, at the ready as he turned to face them.

There were only three of them left, looking at him maliciously.

The first one jumped and Haymitch was able to duck and give it a big cut on its stomach mid-air; it fell dead to the ground. The other two jumped at the same time, and he stabbed one and ducked the other, throwing the knife to where it landed a few feet away. He figured the way the knife stayed in its body that it was finally dead.

He stood there breathing heavily, only now feeling blood trickling down his face and arms, the pain kicking in amongst the adrenaline.

"Holy shit!" he yelled out.

First it was poisonous butterflies, and now evil squirrels? What was this distorted dream of an Arena? Who the hell designed this thing?!

He caught his breath for another minute or two and then began collecting his weapons along with the bodies, even going back to where the first attack happened, quickly retrieving the bodies before he ran away from what he figured was their nesting grounds.

He would have all of the little devils for a meal.

He built a small fire with rocks. When they turned red, he diminished the fire and cooked the squirrels slowly, not wanting to put himself out in the open with too much smoke.

The first two squirrels were delicious. The third one was meaty and juicy, and the fourth was so good he closed his eyes. And he still had some left over.

He had never been so full in his life – but revenge was best served warm and juicy this time around.

He wrapped the others in big leaves and shoved them into his backpack. He took a deep breath, let out a burp, took a sip or two of water, immediately filling the bottle from the jug he had miraculously held onto, finishing it as he filled the leather skin clipped to his jacket. He opened the lid to the jug and unzipped his trousers, grinning as he filled the empty carton as much as he could before zipping back up and walking away.

This time however, he held a knife in his hand, now always at the ready.

When the night sky fell without a Capitol anthem to signal any deaths - it even took a moment for him to realize it was a day without any sounds of the cannon - Haymitch made shelter in the brush. Surprisingly he fell asleep easily, nestled under a roof of branches he had arranged over some rocks next to a big pine tree. In the morning, he cooked a half of a squirrel for breakfast, and then continued forward.

It was afternoon when he felt the ground tremble below him.

He stopped, and his heartbeat quickened as he held his breath. It was a few more seconds before it happened again, yet this time more faint.

With dread, he climbed the nearest tree clumsily, wrapping his body around the thin trunk as he reached the top with a good view of most of the Arena.

The big snow-capped mountain was now spewing thick black smoke at an alarming rate. He heard and felt another rumble and watched in awe as orange hot liquid spewed from the mouth of the mountain, spilling down the mountainside at an alarming rate. It even emitted round balls of fire that landed far away, large flames emitting from where they landed.

This wasn't a mountain... he remembered reading about them in school: this was a Volcano.

Something about plate tectonics breaking, and then allowing the inner earth's core to spew from the top... something like that. He never expected to see a real one in his life. They had all been erupted and rendered immobile by Capitol technology long before he was born.

He could only watch in slight fascination -but mostly horror- as red hot lava flowed down the mountain side, eviscerating everything in its path but stopping short of the large field that held the Cornucopia, quickly turning to black rock.

In a daze he watched as layer after layer of lava spewed from the mouth of the mountain, destroying everything on it's side of the Arena. When he heard the first cannon he jumped, but readjusted his bodily grip on the branch as he counted the rest in his head.

Ten blasts total.

It had to be the group led by Slater. He was so intent on setting camp at the top of the mountain... he wondered if they'd traveled to the tip, all amazed at what they had encountered, or had set up camp lower down; either way, they wouldn't have been able to escape in time.

He climbed down the tree but stayed on a branch until the sun set - the sound and commotion could've drawn other curious tributes out, and he didn't want to run into anybody. Then he heard the anthem. This time, he didn't have the heart to look. He was tired of seeing scowling faces, now dead, staring down at him.

But he counted the canons, leaving thirteen left.

He had thirteen lives to beat before he could go home… if he ever did.

Haymitch woke the next morning, this time in a small cave, and stayed lying for a while before he sat up. His back felt sore and he stretched for a while until he heard the first cannon of the day.

These games were moving a lot faster than he thought they would. The last Quarter Quell had lasted a week and half. It was only the fifth day – and more than half of the tributes were gone.

Something was definitely at hand from the Gamemakers. Maybe a quicker Games lead to a happier audience.

He then made the choice to stay where he was, regaining his strength and mentality. He ate a piece of dried fruit and then started on exercises to pass time; push-ups, crunches, and using a handful of knives as weights – though they didn't do much.

There were three more canons throughout the day, and he looked up to watch the projection in the sky at the end of the night.

A girl form District 2, the brunette who followed Remy around in the training gym. Guess she became useless to her… then another girl from District 10.

He smiled, sure it was over, and his heart dropped at the next face.

It was Dylan. The words District 12 floated below his projected face. Dylan even had a slight smile in his photo, unlike the other scowling faces of the dead tributes that had since been projected to the sky.

Haymitch took a few deep breaths before he went back the cave, reset his two blankets for a lame mattress, and fell asleep; trying his hardest not to think of the friend he had made so quickly and lost even sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe! Stay home! Unless you're deemed an essential worker. If you are, then thank you for everything you do.


	12. The Games: Day 6

A loud screech woke him up.

He was in a sitting position in a second, gripping the knife he had slept with in his hand tightly.

He crept to the mouth of the cave, low on his stomach as he looked around.

He saw an owl, on the ground, currently having a meal of a golden squirrel. He smiled, and sat up. The bird ignored the movement and kept eating.

He wondered when the animals entered the arena. Was it hours or days before the Games?

Were they real or just creations?

He went back inside and snacked on his last apple for breakfast. He stretched, packed his things, and left the cave, needing to stay on the move.

He knew there had to be a border to the Arena. If he reached it… he wasn't sure about what it would entail, but he had an inkling to find out.

He was walking for only a couple of minutes before he heard voices.

He stopped short, looking at the trees around him, but found no easy route out. If he started running, he would make noise and it would turn into a chase…

He sighed and pulled his larger knife from his waist, gripping the spear in his other hand tightly. He ignored that it was shaking.

He took a deep breath, feeling ready to fight whoever came towards him.

The laughing voices of the three Tributes soon faded, and Haymitch watched them enter the small clearing in the woods, bodies as tense as his as they stared at him.

One of them was armed with a small wooden club covered in dry blood. The other two had bruised knuckles and blood splatters on their gray shirts, but held no weapons in sight.

No words were exchanged.

Haymitch slowly readjusted the grip on his spear, and threw it at the one who was armed. The one he aimed at ducked in time, and another one grabbed it and bent the handle, his muscles bulging as he worked to bend the metal. He let out a laugh as he tossed the now useless spear away. The one Haymich threw the spear at attacked, yelling out and coming right at him, holding the club in a good grip. He took a long time to set up his swing, giving Haymitch time to duck and reach up to give a good cut with his knife onto the boys' throat. He fell over quickly, blood splurting from the wound.

As the sound of the canon reverberated around them, Haymitch landed a good kick in the middle of the other boy's chest, sending him to the ground.

He blocked a hit from the third, the one at least a foot taller and with a good hundred pounds on him, and landed a good punch to send him tumbling backwards.

Haymitch managed to grab the club from the dead hands of the first guy, and hit the large one square on the head, knocking him either dead or unconscious. The remaining one let out a yell, and Haymitch threw his arm forward to stab him with his big knife but he swerved out of the way, grabbed his arm tight, and twisted.

Haymitch let go of the knife as the other tribute yelled out in pain.

They struggled, throwing punches and trying to grab each other. He managed to strike the other kid in the jaw, his mouth splitting out blood, but he provided a counter attack and Haymitch's ears rang at the hit to his temple.

The boy was now trying to get a grip of his neck, and his fingers were close to his mouth… Haymitch reached forward and bit hard on two fingers he managed to grab with his mouth and bit down - hard.

He ignored the scream as he spit out what he could and reached forward to quickly snap his neck.

Maysilee was right.

He would have no trouble doing it.

But then again, he had been flirting, however in his twisted way of talking about snapping necks. In the situation where it was literately life or death, he figured anything was possible.

Haymitch let out a heavy sigh at the next canons. He shoved the dead wight off of him and scrambled away from the three bodies, catching his breath as he crawled away.

He sighed, and stood up, only momentarily realizing he had only heard two canons...

He then heard a yell and turned in time to face the large one come at him, with one of Haymitch's knives in hand. He sighed, frustrated he didn't check each of their pulses... Haymitch ducked the blow in time, but the Tribute moved his arm and hit him with the knife's handle on his cheek. He yelled out as he felt strong arms grab him and then move him to a death grip, an arm around his throat tightly, the serrated blade cutting into his skin on his chest.

Haymitch yelled and thrashed out behind him, but didn't do good enough damage, the boy was big and strong. He winced and closed his eyes at the dizziness, his breath catching.

So this was his time.

He thought he would make it farther, but he wasn't good enough as these guys.

His vision started blurring, his breaths shortening, and he welcomed the end. The boy tightened his grip around his throat, and Haymtich gasped.

He shouted out "Cowards!" as his last words. To the Gamemakers and the Tribute himself…

And then he heard a whistling sound which stopped short with a thunk, as though something had hit skin.

The grip around him loosened and Haymitch broke loose, falling to the ground, breathing in the grass and fresh air with gratitude, his mind racing but then coming to a singular thought - survive. While he gasped for breath he reached to his boot to get his next knife out of its sheath, getting ready for the tribute who wanted him next.

He heard a few steps nearby and he turned over onto his back, not strong enough to get to his feet, but gathering the power to do so.

"You're better at hand to hand than I thought you would be," he heard an all too familiar voice.

And after second or two, just like the night of the interviews, Maysille's face appeared right above him.

This time instead of a frown, it was a grin. And instead of her hair falling down around him, she had a simple braid falling over her shoulder, just like she had worn in the train to the Capitol.

"And..." he started, still catching his breath, his body relaxing slightly, glad that he had survived a fight he was sure he had lost, "you are a lot smarter… as well as quiet, but not quite enough. I could hear you from a mile away the pther day," he replied, grinning back, reaching down to put the knife back in his boot.

Her smile faltered before she pulled back. He sat up gingerly.

"I knew somebody was watching me! Damn you, where were you hiding?"

"I'm not great at it, but sometimes having a bird's eye view is worth the trouble," he said, motioning up at the trees around them.

Haymitch moved to stand up and Maysilee took a step back, her body stiff but not in a threatening way.

They both stood there silently, Haymitch still catching his breath, the pain of his injuries coming to fruition against his adrenaline; Maysilee looking down at the three bodies around them before she turned back to him. He noticed a small spark in her eyes, and then she spoke.

"We'd live longer with the two of us…" she said, still guarded.

Haymitch only grinned.

"Guess you just proved that," he said, and Maysilee nodded before she let down her guard, her body noticeably relaxing.

"May…" he wasn't sure how to thank her.

At the nick-name, her eyebrows furrowed and she shook her head.

He sighed, and motioned to the dead bodies.

In silence, they searched the bodies, finding nothing but stuffed leaves and dirt in their packs. A common theme with the Tributes... maybe they thought those without supplies would carelessly attack...

Haymitch ditched the club but picked up his spear, shaking his head at the bent handle. It would be useless unless he found a way to break the metal...

"It won't break. It's ruined, leave it," she said, standing near the edge of the clearing, waiting impatiently.

He sighed, and nodded.

"Should've grabbed more," he muttered, walking towards her.

She tilted her head.

"Shall we bury it? Hold a eulogy? It might be better than-" a large horn interrupted her, and the familiar sound of the Capitol hovercraft approaching was heard.

She sighed, and shook her head.

"C'mon, they make it louder if you don't leave quickly enough," she yelled over the sound, turning and walking away.

He followed.

They walked in a tense yet somehow comfortable silence for a while, Maysilee leading the way. It had been so long that Haymitch was thinking of making a sarcastic remark to lessen the tense silence, but stayed silent when Maysille slowed to a stop.

They had reached the bottom of a large and tall quarry of rocks, all very sharp; most were splattered with dried blood. His gaze climbed upward, noting the jagged rocks before he turned to her, an eyebrow raised.

Her face stayed solid, not showing anything.

"Follow me exactly; make sure you have a good grip. Don't slip."

Haymitch only nodded as he tucked his large knife into it's sheath.

She started up the quarry, moving in a weird zigzag pattern, climbing the rocks and avoiding the sharper points with grace and flexibility. He followed her, moving much slower, and she sighed heavily to show her impatience instead of saying anything.

After a while, he realized she had smeared some black on the points where she used her hands and feet. Crusted blood… but he told himself it was ash.

He picked up his pace then. Feeling challenged at her wit, he wanted to show his strength and agility. They both were fighters.

They finally reached the top, where she had manipulated the tree branches with rope to cover the top, creating a makeshift shelter.

She had a small fire-pit with large stones and wood, but no food around. There was a sleeping area with leaves as a cushion. She had only a small bowl and her small backpack rested against a corner

They both sat down, barely winded from the climb. Haymich only smiled.

He was constantly moving, avoiding and accidentally coming across other tributes, getting lucky; but somehow she had managed the perfect shelter. She had made it farther into the forest; quicker than he was.

She'd taken Cassie's tactic and acted less than par in training. She was slow on the obstacle course, slow on the sprinting trials...

"You did well, Mays," he admitted, using his own nickname this time.

She shook her head, motioning towards his pack.

"I didn't make it so well in the bloodbath."

"But we both made it off the platforms…"

"I don't run as fast as you. I was barely able to grab this tiny pack, had to fight another girl for it… she-" her voice cracked, and she fell silent.

"You managed to make shelter, a reliable and safe one. One to tease other Tributes with, I bet you had fun with that…"

The corner of her mouth twitched, and it broke into a grin.

"I did. It made them angrier that they couldn't reach me, and they lost focus."

"How many tried to make it up here, May?"

She frowned, sighed, and then spoke.

"Four. The third one begged me to kill him; he was bleeding out through his heel…"

Haymitch looked down at the sharp rocks below them. He noticed the blood more prominently now; and there was a lot of it from this angle.

Like the fresh blood on the club he beat the boy with. The splatter on Maggie's clothes as she bled out. The young boy caught in the trap at the Cornucopia, so close to a victory of a meal...

"What about you, Mitch? I tell you mine, you tell me yours," she said.

He sighed.

"The butterflies are poisonous here," he said. She nodded.

"So is everything else, tell me something new."

"There was a boy and a girl... they begged me to kill them. I only walked away. I couldn't..." he swallowed, but continued. "Do you know what happened to Dylan?"

Maysilee looked down.

"I only saw him with a small girl; they were heading back towards the Cornucopia the morning before the volcano erupted… But I don't know what happened."

Haymitch just clenched his jaw. He spoke next, feeling she should know.

"I was with Maggie," he said softly. Her head jerked and she glared at him.

"What the fuc-"

"Remy and her two companions got the best of her," he said quickly.

May let out a breath, but still kept his gaze, staying silent.

"She… she had a bow and arrows. She told me she had gotten one of them."

"Why didn't you-"

"I tried to help... but she refused. She just wanted company."

He saw her eyes getting wet, and she turned away.

"Mays," he said softly.

He shouldn't want to, but his arms reached for her anyways.

At the first touch on her shoulder she turned and buried herself in his embrace, crying silently into his shirt. He held back his own hurt, not wanting the cameras to see him like that. The best he could do was hide Maysilee's tears.

He rubbed her back absentmindedly as he hid his own face in her hair, wishing for only a second they could both be back home, not exposed to _this_.

Maysilee had grown close to Maggie, he had seen it on the train, and even during training. He had heard their laughs carry through the penthouse late at night. After a couple of minutes, Maysilee grew still. He felt her deep breaths against his shirt before she pulled away, her face bent down as she wiped away at her face.

The sun was now setting, and the temperature had dropped. They both sat down near the fire-pit, and Haymitch slid off his backpack and smiled as he zipped it open.

"Feeling hungry?"

Maysilee only tilted her head.

"What the hell else could you have after six days? You've rationed your food too well; it's probably only one more serv-"

Her voice faded as he pulled out two limp squirrels and dropped them at Maysilee's crossed legs.

"You… you fought these?" she said dazedly, looking up and meeting his gaze. He nodded.

"A whole pack, actually."

She frowned, almost upset, but then she shook her head.

"Well, you're probably used to squirrels anyways."

"These were a lot quicker and much more violent than the ones at home, trust me."

"Yeah, your face tells me that," she said with a slight frown, "I think I have some rain water collected to wash those cuts out-

"I have a first aid kit, but they don't hurt anymore so I didn't want to waste anything."

She reached forward to touch a cut on his jaw and he involuntarily winced at the pain. She shook her head.

"The deeper ones are definitely infected, the skin is dark red and not pink. You could've died within a few days... let me take care of 'em."

She rummaged in his pack without asking, and he couldn't help but grin when she retrieved the small box he had left untouched.

She rubbed the antiseptic cream on his scars and used the bandages he had left. He stayed still during the ordeal, not showing his pain as she treated him.

"Am I your first ally?" he asked, watching her eyes which were focused on dressing his wounds.

She startled in her touch at a scar on his forearm where she was bandaging with the last of the gauze, but then scowled as she continued dressing his wounds.

"Y- yes, you are," she said slowly, her head still bowed, going back to wrapping his arm tightly with the gauze.

"Same here," he said. She looked up, and they both quickly looked away when their eyes met.

Haymitch lit a fire and extinguished it as soon as the rocks got hot enough to cook the squirrels without drawing smoke, showing Maysilee a new trick which she smiled and shook her head at.

She ignited the fire to a full flame, and pointed above her.

"The branches dissipate the smoke."

"Damn you are really smart," Haymitch replied, shaking his head.

"Just… handy," she replied, unlike herself, who would've pushed him to question her ability... 

"No, you're smart; something that all of the past victors had," he said, turning the squirrels on the fire. He brought out his water bottle and handed it to her.

She smiled brightly, genuinely happy, but she hid it quickly and grabbed it from his hand. She only took two small sips and then closed the lid and stuck her hand out.

He shook his head.

"Keep it; I have one of my own," he said, tapping the leather skin, still full, on his hip.

She shook her head.

"The past victors had luck, too," she muttered, holding the cantine against her chest for a moment before putting it amongst her supplies.

"Actually I've just been taking supplies from those who don't need them anymore as I run out of my own," he said, and then looked back at the fire, "I don't feel that lucky."

"You were the first at the Cornucopia, against Cassie's word mind you-"

"I wasn't as dazed as the others… it was just another mountain, another forest for me."

"You didn't feel blinded? Winded by the fresh air?"

He only shrugged.

"Ever since I saw the look on Leo's face, I knew that I had to get off the platform as quickly as possible."

"Leo?"

"He was a trainer at the gymnasium. He worked with spears, and his station wasn't visited often, so we practiced a lot together. He was there with me in the Launch Room." Haymitch looked down.

"My Aunt was there," Maysilee whispered.

Haymitch snapped his head up, completely thrown off at her truth. She hated talking about her family...

"She's prominent in the Capitol, she married into it. I hadn't seen her since I was maybe five, but she acted as though she had seen me the other day... like a casual meeting. Not that I was being lead to my death or anything…"

"You don't know that yet," he whispered. He oddly enough had felt comfort, seeing a face he recognized from the days before as he had trained to fight. He couldn't imagine how discerning it would be to come face to face with a stranger acting as a friend.

She sighed and shook her head, avoiding his gaze.

"We should get some sleep."

Haymitch only nodded as they both made their own beds and fell asleep to the Arena's night sounds.


	13. The Games: Day 7

_Eleven left._

The flutter of a bird's wings sounding almost too close startled him awake. He made a move to stand up but felt a tug on his arm.

He looked down to find that Maysilee was sleeping across from him; they were holding hands. He hid a smile and then looked around, trying to keep his arm still. The sun was high in the sky, meaning it was just mid afternoon. And it was all quiet, except from the activity of the birds and a slight breeze rustling the leaves of the trees.

They had to keep moving.

Haymitch turned back to look at May. He stared at her sleeping face, not set in fear or anger, but serenity. He lingered for a few more moments before he scooted in closer and reached over with his other hand to shake her shoulder lightly.

"Mays," he said loudly.

She groaned, and turned her face into her arm.

"Mays, wake up."

"No, no more chocolate, please," she muttered and groaned, shaking her head.

His smile faltered. She was dreaming of home.

"Well I could sure use some chocolate right now, but figuring where we are... it might be hard to find," he said.

Maysilee's eyes flew open.

He watched her face transform into a frown as she took a split second to realize where they were. She looked at him and the corner of her mouth twitched, but it was only a moment before she looked down at their hands and pulled back entirely, moving to a sitting position.

"Thank you, Mays," he said, reaching forward to rest a hand on her shoulder. He smiled and tightened his grip for a second before pulling back and standing up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He shook out his legs when he heard her mutter something under her breath.

"What?" he asked, turning back to her.

"As I said, we'd live longer with the two of us," she said softly, but still prominent.

He only thought she meant for the night when she saved his life - then they would go on their separate ways. Not that he was complaining...

He only nodded.

She gave a short nod back and stood up.

"We should keep moving," he said.

"What's wrong with here?" she asked, sounding defensive.

"This place is perfect... but not so much now that there's only ten tributes left. That volcano eruption drove them straight to the woods, right at us; the Gamemakers are getting restless. Plus, I have an itch to see if there's an end to this arena."

"End?"

"It can't go on forever, can it? A border... edge... something."

She only tilted her head.

"I know this place is great, and comfortable, but I can tell you soon enough someone will come along. But these tributes have lived this long, who's to say they won't make it up the quarry like you can?" he continued.

She only frowned, looking around almost longingly at her camp.

He rested a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn't push him away.

"Our best strategy is to keep moving."

She still stayed silent.

Haymitch sighed and started packing up the rest of his things. If she wasn't willing, he hated to think it, but he would leave her.

It would be the best for him to get away from her. To figure it out on his own, if there was an end to the arena. It wouldn't do any good to stay in one spot.

There was a loud snap, and then a large crash; the sound of a breaking tree branch. It was followed by laughter.

May's eyes grew big.

"Let's go, _now_ ," Haymitch whispered.

Maysilee only nodded and they packed up quickly and silently. They cut the rope she had made with bark and they both held the branches to release them silently. She stuffed everything else into her smaller pack, and gave a quick glance around.

"What about the fire pit – my blood marks for the rocks?" she looked distraught.

"We'll have to leave it. Someone else might take this camp, we can circle around to check on it later if you want to," he said, tightening his straps and making sure his knives were secure in his boots. He stood up and held out a hand.

She looked to him, to his hand, and then all around her, taking in the sights. Another boisterous laugh broke the morning silence, and she put her hand in his.

"You're the expert here, get us off this Quarry. We'll head that way," he said, motioning south his with head. She only nodded, squeezing his hand.

Then they began their descent down the quarry, letting go of each other to get a better grip on the sharp rocks. Haymitch slipped and he sucked in a breath as he felt a searing pain against his calf. Maysilee stopped and looked up, but he shook his head.

"Keep moving."

She surprisingly did as he asked, this time pointing to each spot before her foot left it, even once or twice grabbing his ankle and leading his foot to the right place. They made it down quickly after that.

There was another laugh that broke the silence just as their feet hit the forest ground. Maysilee's hand shot out to grasp at his, and he squeezed it back, his eyes shooting back and forth - the Tributes making such a racket still hadn't reached them.

"Up for jogging?" he asked softly.

She frowned.

"Your leg," she said, but she stopped when she heard another laugh, even closer this time.

"Okay fine. But we'll check that leg when we stop."

They jogged together, helping each other through the rough brush, pulling at each other so they didn't trip and fall.

"Stop! Haymitch stop!" she cried out when they reached grass and the thorny brush was no longer visible.

He did as she asked, coming to a stop, catching his breath and suddenly feeling faint. He knelt down and sat on a nearby boulder, his breath short. He thought his vision was swimming, but shook his head, blinking rapidly to set it straight.

"Your leg! Ugh, you idiot!" he heard her say. He felt too drowsy.

"It was just a scrape," he muttered, his vision blurring again.

She let out an angry yell.

"Your leg is soaked in blood!"

He felt hands flutter at his legs, pulling the hem of his pants up to his knee. He giggled at the soft touch that tickled his calves, but that was the last thing he did before the blackness overtook him.

* * *

"Wake up, idiot."

He shook his head, keeping his eyes closed. Why was his leg throbbing?

"It's been a few hours; _you_ were the one to say we had to keep moving. So get up, idiot."

He opened his eyes. May was leaning over him, her hair, no longer in it's bun, was tickling his ears.

He grinned. She frowned.

He reached up a hand to dazedly brush some of the tickling hairs behind her ear. She pulled back, but even in his still sleepy state he noticed a hint of pink on her cheeks as she pulled back.

He blinked and sat up. His right leg was bandaged up in gauze and the pant leg was torn off.

"What-"

"You cut your leg on my quarry, remember. Then stupidly insisted we run, pumping your blood faster, making you bleed out quicker. I was lucky enough to drag your heavy ass here before the others saw us."

He looked around. They were in a small, almost mock of a cave. There was barely any room under the rocks, but it provided the necessary cover.

"How much food did you waste on me?" he asked, noticing he was feeling stronger that he should be after blood loss.

She tucked her lips into a straight line, her furrowed eyebrows twitching before she sighed and sat back, resting her elbows on her knees.

"I cooked the rest of the squirrels. There were only two left; they were so skinny they barely gave any meat; but it was a good stew, if I do say so myself. I also force fed the rest of the dried fruit."

He sighed. She did the right thing – the squirrels were set to spoil any day, and he wasn't a fan of the dried fruit, so at least he didn't remember eating it.

"Good move," he said, smiling. Her worried look disappeared in a barely there smile.

"Did you have any, at least?" he asked, moving his legs, testing them. The pain was bearable.

"Just a small tidbit. I couldn't help it, sorry. But we've both got a good supply of the dried beef and sunflower seeds."

"Don't be sorry. You saved my life."

She grinned.

"That's the second time, mind you. You should pick up the slack."

At that, she stood up and looked around. She stretched, and knelt down again to meet his eye level.

"I heard their voices, but one of them was complaining of an ankle cramp or something, so they took a small break. I was able to drag you to cover before they saw us - we have a decent but not perfect cover with the brush. But they haven't passed us. They're a loud bunch."

He nodded, and as though proving her right he heard another loud laugh. It was as though this group wanted to draw the other Tributes towards them.

"Let's keep going while they're at a standstill. I'll need to get used to the pain," he grumbled, not feeling up to a fight.

He stood up. A small sharp pain shot up his leg and he winced, keeping his lips sealed tight so he didn't yell out in pain. He shook his head, and took another step. The next shot of pain wasn't as bad, so he nodded.

"Let's move."

They had been walking for an hour or so when a cannon blast broke their comforting silence. Maysilee tripped and landed on her knees in the thorny brush. Haymitch reached forward to help her up, but she slapped his hand away as she stayed kneeling over, her breath quick.

"Mays?" he asked, kneeling down next to her. He laid a hand on her back and she flinched, pulling away. Her fleeting eyes met his for a moment, but with a few more breaths she soon calmed down. There was no mistaking her wet eyes.

"Mays," he said again, his finger grazing her cheek, wiping away a tear. She scowled at him and got up quickly.

"Shut up."

She shifted her backpack, and pulled her hair into a messy bun as she brought her face to a scowl.

"Didn't say a word," he said.

He stared at her for a second or two and then grabbed one of her hands, bringing it close to see if she had cut her hands on the thorns. The one he held was unscathed and he looked to her other, which she moved quickly behind her back.

He raised an eyebrow.

"It won't event take a second to add some antiseptic…" he said slowly, frowning.

She frowned back, and then brought her hand out, a prominent abrasion from her finger to her thumb on her palm, bleeding heavily.

He pulled a strap off of his backpack, bringing it forward so he could rummage through, finding the First Aid kit and bringing out the cream. He rubbed it on gently. She let out a sigh and he added a few more deep massages with his thumbs, avoiding the cuts, before he drew back.

"Let's go," she said gruffly, walking away. He only shook his head, hiding a smile as he put the cream back, with only a few drops left, and re-zipped his pack, sliding his arm through the other strap as he followed.

A few hours later Maysilee stumbled on a branch, the crack echoing around them. He stopped and turned, frowning. She drew up short, mirroring his frown.

"What?"

"You're too loud."

"Excuse me?"

"Your footing, May," he said, looking down at her boots, the same as his, but surprisingly smaller. He looked her up and down, only now noticing how petite she really was. But she was still here, beating more than thirty other tributes to stay alive.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" her shaky voice broke his thoughts.

He shook his head.

"You need to be light on your footing. When you're running, just run, don't care about the noise, I know you're fast enough. But when you're walking like we are, you need to check your surroundings. Avoid branches sticking up from the ground, twigs, things that make noise. For your heavy step-"

"Heavy?!" she shrieked.

Haymitch jumped and brought his hand to cover her mouth. She only glared at him.

"Looks like we'll have to train that voice of yours too," he said, grinning while he shook his head.

Her tongue struck out, and he felt it graze the middle of his palm. He brought his hand back, surprised and thoroughly humored.

"Just… watch your step. The noise will bring other tributes right on our path. You don't want that."

"Why are you Cassie-ing me?"

"Sorry, what?

"You're being Cassie. You're mentoring me. We're still allies, and it's not like you're dying. Why are you trying to teaching me?" she asked.

He furrowed an eyebrow, caught at the question. He honestly didn't know why.

Fuck that, he did know.

He wanted her to win. Equally as much that he wanted to survive this as well. It was a continuing war inside his mind.

He only shook his head and then shrugged, taking the least emotional way out.

"If you're my ally, I want a lighter step. Don't want you to bring unnecessary trouble my way."

She let out an exasperated sound, and continued forward in the general direction they were going. However he noticed she didn't make that much noise as they continued.

They walked until the sun started disappearing behind the now dormant volcano. The trees were as thick as ever, and after going on for so long, he started to think that just maybe the Arenas were endless during the games. The advanced technology the Capitol had, the acres and miles of land that were uninhabited in Panem...

Maybe the Arena was really endless and the Gamemakers used things such as Volcanoes, poisonous butterflies, and deadly squirrels to lead the last tributes to the same general area to finish the Games. Then, perhaps, the border was created to make the 'monument'.

That was his best guess; they were so deep into the forest - and there was no end.

The snapping of a twig - not from Maysilee - drew him up short and he threw his arm out to stop her. She grabbed onto his arm to steady herself and looked around.

"What-" she started.

"Shh!"

They stood still in silence. That snap had a short echo, meaning it was close by. When Haymitch heard distinct yet faraway voices, he knew whoever made the sound was heading straight towards them.

"Trees. Now."

He ran and jumped to the nearest tree, grasping onto a low hanging branch and pulling himself up. He straddled the branch and looked around to see Maysilee still on the ground, standing still, looking up at him.

"They're coming!" he hissed.

She brought out her bamboo stick, a feathered dart sticking out of one end. Haymitch shook his head, his heart beating quickly, his fear for her growing.

"No! Save those for when you need it! We can circle behind them, take them by surprise. Goddammit, climb a tree now!" his whisper rose in volume.

She stood there, as though shocked into a frozen state.

"Just come here!" he whispered louder, almost at his normal tone as he bent over, sticking his arm down, "Run and reach for my hand."

The voices drew closer.

" _Mays_!"

She then moved, faster than he expected. She sprinted towards him, kicking off the tree trunk to hoist herself up, her arms reaching out for him. When her fingers brushed his, he grabbed at one arm with both hands and pulled up. She let out a grunt and swung herself up and onto the branch with him. She landed straight on top of him, the breath draining out of him at the impact. He let out a distressed noise but held his breath when he heard the first voice.

"Did you hear that?"

It was a boy. He came into view, his dirty blonde hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Haymitch frowned.

The last boy alive from District 1: Oren.

Stacked with weapons; a bow slung over his shoulder, one hand holding a flail with two metal spiked heads as big as pumpkins, and the other held an axe. His boots gleamed with proof of many knives.

"Mitch-" he heard May whisper. He turned his head and almost drew back at how close they were. He then noticed how she was plastered against him: chest to chest, her legs straddling him. He swallowed his breath and brought his hand up to rest a finger against her lips.

Her cheeks grew pink.

"They'll leave soon," he lipped. She gave a small nod, their gazes still locked. They stared at each other, not at the Tributes below.

"Hear what, Oren? I swear, you're becoming more paranoid by the hour," a whiny girl's voice broke their comfortable silence.

They both turned their heads to look down at the small crowd now forming. Haymitch counted five.

The girl who spoke had choppy hair, as though someone had cut it with shears. It was bright red, he figured a shave would have been better since she stood out like a sore thumb. District 2: Maya. Haymitch recalled her taking down all of the trainers in hand to hand combat.

The other three he didn't know who or what district. As though reading his mind, he felt May's breath brush down his neck. He kept his gaze on the crowd down below who were pointing in different directions, planning where to go. He flinched slightly when he felt the form of three fingers press down onto his arm. She paused, and then rested one flexed out hand, all five fingers pressing into his skin before giving another pause, this time resting both palms on his arm and moving a hand to press one finger against his skin.

Three, Five, and Eleven.

"Eleven is also good at hand to hand, the other boy," she barely whispered.

Haymitch nodded, his nose brushing her hair. He laid his head back against the tree trunk, taking in a deep breath, keeping his gaze on the crowd but needing to be as far away as physically possible from May - which wasn't that much given their proximity.

She let out a small hum.

"Don't do that," she whispered right into his ear.

His hands involuntarily rested on her waist as he looked back at her, her eyes inches away.

"Do what?" he lipped, worried about making noise. May frowned, and let out a breath. He then noticed how he felt that breath, from a body flat against his own. He almost groaned.

"Should we set up camp?" one of the girls asked.

"No, stupid. This is the perfect spot for an attack, we'll be sitting ducks."

Haymitch grinned. He noticed May was still holding her bamboo stick.

He used her method, and held two fingers against her shoulder. He pointed to Maya.

"Hand to hand," he lipped, and she nodded.

He held one finger against her shoulder, and then pointed to Oren.

He felt her whole body shiver, the movement reverberating against his body, making him take in another breath.

He shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he was, considering the situation.

She moved slightly, bringing a second dart out of her pocket. She held the second dart flat against his chest as she brought the projectile to her lips, and aimed.

"Blondie first. He has the arrows," he whispered. She gave a short nod, and took a short breath before bringing the bamboo to her lips. The dart flew out, landing right into Oren's neck. He grunted at the impact, and instantly started choking, white foam emitting from his mouth as his knees buckled and he fell over. The sound of a canon broke the short silence.

Maysilee quickly loaded the other dart, shooting again, and the next one landed in Maya's shoulder. After a second she keeled over too, also choking on white foam. The three others all scrambled in their step, looking around frantically - almost hopeless now that the two tributes keeping them alive were now gone as the second canon reverberated around them.

Maysilee looked over at him, panicked.

"How many darts left?" he asked.

"Two."

He turned his head to the remaining three.

"Your call," he whispered.

He waited for her decision, and turned back when he felt her pocketing the bamboo stick.

He smiled at her choice, and kept her gaze as he yelled out.

"You have exactly seven seconds to leave," he shouted.

They all jumped, one of the girls letting out a shriek.

"Seven… six… five…" he started.

They all ran, giving small shrieks.

He waited a few more seconds, the both of them listening as the remaining three scrambled away, making so much noise that Haymitch figured out who to thank for warning them in the first place.

"I think we're good."

She nodded, and - thankfully - used the tree trunk to push herself back.

"Should I go first?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes, and threw her other leg over, expertly not kicking Haymitch in the face to do so, to propel herself off the branch. She landed in a crouch on the ground, and stood up straight. She went right to Maya's body, who had the backpack.

Haymitch jumped down as well and took the weapons from Oren. Maysilee had just stuffed the last food into her already overstuffed pack when they heard the whirr of the hovercraft coming to take the bodies away.

They ran together behind the trees, waiting until the sounds of the claw descending and ascending two times stopped and the hovercraft left. Haymitch let out a held in breath.

"I was never good with arrows, how about you?" he asked, weighing the steel bow with wooden detail in his hand.

Maysilee shook her head. He sighed, and tried to break the bow in half, but with no success. He climbed a nearby tree and hung the bow high in the branches, along with the quiver of arrows. He jumped down, and they both looked up, making sure the weapons were well hidden.

"What about this?" Maysilee asked, holding up the flail with obvious struggle. It looked heavy.

"That's gonna slow us down, drop it."

With a relieved sigh she did, and then motioned to her pack as she zipped it closed with a struggle.

"Some food packs and water. I grabbed a knife," she said, turning her boot to show the first addition to her boot straps. Haymitch worked on hiding the flail with broken branches and dirt. It was too heavy to hide in the trees.

"You good to go? We'll move in a different direction than the others."

She nodded, looking around warily.

"It'll be fine. We'll reach the edge… wait for the others to-" he continued.

"Don't," she stopped him.

He raised an eyebrow. She was still denying the inevitable.

He felt the same, but the nudging feeling to get as far as he could still grabbed at him more.

"Fine. Just keep going, we'll find a campsite when night falls."

They kept walking and when the first stars peeked out in the sky through the branches they found a large tree to set up camp. They harnessed the branches down to make a sort of shelter and rested against the trunk as they ate small portions for dinner.

"How did you find the bamboo and darts?" he asked.

She swallowed the last of the beef jerky, and shrugged.

"It was in the small pack I fought for. It took me a while to figure out what it was."

"I would've never figured it out."

"I thought it was to be for torture… I remember reading that the Asians would use bamboo splinters as a torture device – they would put splints under fingernails. It was reported to be the worst kind of pain... I was fooling around with it when I brought it to my mouth. The first dart flew out to hit a tree, I found a couple more in a hidden pocket."

"Did they come with poison?" he asked, now intrigued.

She gave a half smile.

"Not really. I used some flowers to coat the tips. I used a rabbit as a test subject, it died within a few seconds. Then I found out that mostly everything here can kill you."

He let out a laugh.

"Yeah, you can say that again."

She took a gulp from her canteen and wiped a hand over her mouth.

"What about you, fighter boy? I saw you were good with a spear, but had no idea you could do hand to hand combat. You could've taken those three guys down yourself if they had no weapons."

He shrugged, feeling stupid at how the compliment affected him.

"More-so just luck with the weapons I was lucky to have. And that last one, about to kill me, was much stronger."

"Stop being modest."

"What?"

"Don't be so… indifferent to the compliment. You moved quickly, knew when to punch, stab, and duck. It was kind of scary, watching you."

He looked at her, surprised.

"Please, as if I can be scared of you. The way you told me about Maggie let me know who you really are," she continued.

He tilted his head.

"And what is that, exactly?"

"Not only a fighter, but a nice guy, too. Who would've thought?" she said, grinning. Before he could react, she yawned and lay down, using her backpack as a pillow.

"You take the first watch."

He smiled, and watched as her breathing slowed and she fell into a deep sleep. He turned a knife around and around in his hand as he killed time, waiting for any noises to disturb them.

After getting used to the night sounds, the hoot of a faraway owl, cricket's that he was convinced was a projected sound - there was no consistency, nothing in the variance of the speed of the chirping - which fluctuated with the temperature of the atmosphere.

He heard a soft whimper and turned to May, barely lit by the moonlight. Her face was scrunched up and she let out another whimper before she let out a small cry.

He dug in his pack and brought out one of the blankets. He spread it out and draped it across her small body, tucking it under her shoulders. She burrowed into the blanket, sighing in her sleep, calming down.

He sighed, taking a knife from his boot. He lifted the blanket at her feet and slipped the blade into one of her boot straps; the second addition. He pulled the blanket down, tucking it under her feet.

He rested back against the trunk, grabbing his bigger knife to rest in his hand. He listened to the music of the nightlife as he waited for the new day.


	14. The Games: Day 8

_Eight left._

"Hold on a second…" Haymitch said, slowing his steps, "look."

As the first rays of sun peeked through the trees, Maysilee stirred awake. She looked confused at the blanket on top of her for a moment before she blushed and folded it quickly before she dropped it onto his lap.

"Get some sleep, I'll give you a few hours," she'd said. Haymitch had lay down and it only felt like five minutes before she was rousing him from his sleep with the same blanket draped across him. He'd only stared at her, keeping her gaze despite her blush as he folded the blanket. They got ready in silence and started walking, stealing glances at each other.

It was only when he had broke the silence did she see some kind of emotion cross her face. Fear.

He shook his head, and motioned at the branches filled with berries around them. They were familiar: they had the spiked leaves and same light purple color of the berries they had argued over in the training gymnasium.

"These are definitely poisonous!" Haymitch said mockingly in a girly voice. She smiled, reaching out and breaking off a branch. She picked a berry, pinching in in her fingers, some juice squirting out.

"Then you just-" she started, saying and doing what he did then, bringing the berry to her mouth.

"No! Everything else here is poisonous, why would this be an exception?" Haymitch said hurriedly, grasping her wrist tightly before she consumed it. She shook her head, raising a brow, and he stopped for a second, thinking the déjà vu was almost too coincidental...

"Smell them," she said, raising it to his nose. He raised an eyebrow, but took a sniff. They smelled exactly like the berries in –

"The Training Center," she finished his thoughts, "if they were poisonous, they would be a different odor, a darker or maybe even lighter color."

She then broke off another branch and handed it to him.

"Start eating… then you might actually kick the bucket from bloat," she said smiling. His heart twitched that she also remembered their rapport back at the training center.

Even though he had his own berries, he reached out and grabbed some berries from the branch in her hand. He noticed the pink in her cheeks and grinned as he popped them into his mouth.

He moaned at the sweet taste. He chewed and swallowed.

"Sweet, despite the thorns. Reminds me of someone…"

Her blush grew, and she grabbed the branch from him with force.

"Better stop while you're ahead. I'm the one with poisonous darts."

He only laughed and May frowned, grabbing some more branches from the bush and walking away. He grabbed a few more and followed, popping berries into his mouth, his smile impossible to contain.

Another canon blast interrupted the silence, stifling the mood.

He heard a screech of some animal and birds flew out of the trees, flying away in haste. He turned and saw Maysille leaning against a tree, her eyes closed.

"It's not close by. We haven't heard any others for a while," he said, hoping to calm her down, taking a cautious step towards her.

She waved her hand away.

"It's not that, just felt a little dizzy."

He admired her strength in not showing how the noise affected her. He brought his canteen from his pack, and held it forward.

"Take some of mine, I don't need it."

"Shut up," she mumbled, bringing forward her own canteen and bringing it to her lips. She took a gulp and put it back. "Let's just keep going."

He followed behind her as she continued walking.

"Why?" she asked after a minute or so. He ignored her.

Minutes later, she asked again. And she asked yet again a while later. She kept asking that one word until he stopped and turned, glaring at her.

"Why?" she asked again, a determined look on her face, her hands on her hips.

"Because it has to end somewhere, right?" he asked.

She tilted her head.

"The arena can't go on forever. We've read about the monuments. There has to be a perimeter," he continued.

She sighed, and shook her head.

"But what do you expect to find?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said truthfully, "But maybe there's something we can use," he said, "Get a one up on the others. It's better to fight when you know your back is not vulnerable."

"One up? Haymitch, there isn't going to be more weapons at the edge. It's not extra storage space. Everybody knows the weapons are all in the Cornucopia." 

"I know there won't be weapons-"

"Then what?!" she asked, her voice rising. He stepped forward, bringing a finger to his lips.

"I… I don't know what exactly I'll find. But I have this gut feeling. Haven't you had that?"

Her eyebrow twitched, and she said nothing as she turned away.

"Let's keep moving," she said.

Haymitch smiled at the victory as they continued to walk. When night fell, they dug a little under some thorny bushes, using the blankets to protect themselves in their hiding spot. Since there was no need for cover since they were hidden, they didn't have to stand watch, so instead they whispered stories to each other to help fall asleep.

Maysilee spoke of her mother's failed attempts at creating new candies and sweets, some of the worst involving coconut and pumpkin. Haymitch told humiliating stories of failed hunts, including a scar on his hip from a hog, and how he chased a deer for almost a mile, almost following it through the hole in the border fence but deciding against it.

They dozed off together, the crickets and owls giving the night music to drift them off to sleep.


	15. The Games: Day 9

_Seven left._

"Haymitch…" someone was shaking him awake.

"Couple more minutes, Finn."

"Mitch! Please wake up!"

"Finn, I'll punch you if you don't let me sleep a little more."

"It's May, you imbicile!"

His eyes flew open.

She was leaning over him, her hair draping over and tickling his neck yet again. He almost grinned but caught sight of the frightened look of her gaze. He blinked and looked around. They were no longer under the thick thorny brush they fell asleep under. She must have pulled him out.

"They're really close. I think they tracked us."

He moved, and she leant back. They both stood up. That's when he heard a muffled laugh and a loud 'shush'.

"Get ready, there's no time to run," he said, the voices coming closer.

She nodded, bringing out the bamboo stick from her pack with one hand. She met his gaze, and he looked down at her boot. She looked down, and grabbed the knife. Then she did a double take.

"Did you-" she asked dazedly, looking down at the new addition.

"Shh," he said, bringing a finger to her mouth. Her eyebrow twitched.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" a nasally girly voice broke the moment.

They both turned to find the three others left in the Career group; the Tributes left from 3, 5, and 11.

They were all painted green, camouflage style to blend with the forest. The boy, 5, had the bow and arrows they'd hid in the trees. The two girls each had small knives.

Haymitch frowned at the bow and arrow. Maybe they had run away scared... but then doubled back and followed them. He felt so stupid...

"You've got two darts left, right?" he barely whispered to May. Even if he'd made the stupid assumption that they were alone - the two of them together were still a force to reckon with.

She tapped his hand twice with her finger as though to say yes.

"Wait for my signal," he whispered a little louder. He squeezed her hand, and then brought out his large knife with the other, turning his gaze to the trio.

First glance at them, he knew they were putting on a show. They didn't have the same confidence that they did when Maya and Oren were with them.

"A pair of rats from District 12!" one of the girls exclaimed, giggling in delight.

"They probably hid in the mines, waiting it out like cowards," the other girl said.

Maysilee snorted.

"Please, we both have more kills than you probably do. Your clothes are too clean," she said, smiling.

They all looked angry at the obvious truth now in the open - that the three of them had clean grey shirts and had gotten by on god knows what; however the Career's saw each of them as some kind of worth for their ally group, meaning he and Maysilee had to stay on their toes.

Haymitch saw the boy grip his bow tightly enough to turn his knuckles white, and stepped forward.

"I'm still trying to figure out how to do this," he said.

"Figure out what? How you two will die?" the boy said, spit flying from his mouth. Haymitch was lucky enough to be out of range.

"No, not that. I know how I'll kill you; I'm still torn about hurting girls though. I'm not sure I'd be able to do it, unless they attack first," he said, turning to the said girls. "I might break a bone, but you both look so tiny it will definitely be an accident. That's when May will come in, with her darts. I'm sure you've seen them before? The whole white gurgle at the mouth thing?" he asked, and glanced at May. She was spinning the bamboo stick around with her fingers, smiling. He couldn't help but grin as well. They might as well put up a front as they did back when they had killed the Careers.

"You?" one of the girls said, disbelieving.

"Me," May replied simply.

"So, you ready?" Haymitch asked taking a dramatic stance hoping it would intimidate the boy.

It did, the fear in his face was obvious. He brought up his bow and loaded an arrow, aiming right at him. His stance was shaky, the bow unsteady.

Haymitch smiled.

"I'm going to let you re-evaluate your choice of weapon. Are you sure you want to use that? It's not a puppet; the objective is to keep it still," he continued.

Their reactions were priceless, and he could even hear May suppress a laugh.

Haymitch watched the boy's gaze turn dark, and he moved his aim to Maysilee. The bow and arrow shook even more in the boys hands. Haymitch stepped in front of May, right in the boys aim.

Haymitch was able to predict when he would let go - it was all in the eyes. As it neared him he moved, swinging his knife to knock the arrow off course. He looked down to see the spearhead had managed to cut his arm.

"Mitch!"

He turned to look at May, shaking, either with fear or anger, he wasn't sure.

Her eyes grew wide.

"Mitch!" she repeated.

He turned around just in time to watch the boy punch his gut with the weakest pressure, it might as well been a tap.

He frowned.

"Now you've made me angry."

He stepped forward and the boy stumbled back but held up his fists. Haymitch shook his head and landed a quick right hook on his nose. He heard the crunch of bones breaking as the boy shrieked and fell down, his hands coming up to hold his face.

He heard a female cry out and turned in time to block a weak punch. He moved his foot and kicked at her legs, making her fall over.

"Now," Haymitch said his foot landing hard on the girl's hand that held the knife, she gave out another cry as her palm opened, letting the weapon slip from her hand.

A second later a dart sank into her neck and the tell-tale white foam appeared in her mouth. Haymitch turned to the last one standing, just as the first canon blasted.

"You wanna calls us rats? Have you ever been down a mine? The thing is, down there, in the depths, there's no place to hide," he said, still angry. She shook, and held her hands up.

"Please, I- I just… this is all so-" she was cut off by a dart hitting her chest. She fell down, choking on the white foam spilling from her mouth.

The second cannon blasted.

He looked towards the boy, the last one alive, stumbling to stand up, blood dripping down his face, soaking his clothes. The first blood stains.

He walked backwards, but stumbled and tripped. Haymitch ran forward and grabbed him. He cried out but Haymitch ignored it as he spun the boy's body around, locking his hands behind him, the boy facing Maysilee.

"You want to do the honors?" Haymitch asked. He heard a sob come from the boy but kept his gaze on May. She looked scared. He waited a second or two before he spoke again.

"At least a punch. I bet you've never punched somebody before."

She tilted her head, a slow smile showing. She walked forward, her fingers flexing.

She brought her right hand into a fist, and just went for it, throwing her hand forward. It hit between the guy's eyes. He moaned, and his body loosened its restraint.

"Agh! That one hurt!" she said, shaking out her hand as she walked in a circle.

"Tuck your thumb in your fingers; try again," Haymitch said, almost yelling over the boy's cries.

She stopped, her hands falling.

"Why are you-"

"Are you going to punch him or not? I can end it now if you like," he said, pulling a long and pointy knife from his boot, bringing it to the boy's heart, eliciting another cry from him.

She shook her head. He put the knife back into his boot, and held the boy as he watched Maysille approach again.

She tucked her thumb in this time as she brought her hand into a fist. She gave an under-hook this time, hitting him in the gut. He moaned momentarily, but then started laughing.

"This bitch hits like a little girl."

Maysilee frowned then. She looked down, and turned away.

"Does the bitch cry tears?" he continued. Haymitch tightened his grip and twisted the boys arm the wrong way, making him cry out.

"And you cry like a little baby. Typical," Haymitch spat.

"I'm just sorry you have to deal with this thing as an ally. Incapable bitch. I won't even bruise from those punches," he said, coughing but continuing, "did you feel sorry for her? Is that why you're together?"

Maysilee stopped walking around, and knelt down. She came back up with Hatmitch's large serrated knife, which he had dropped during the fist to fist fight.

"This 'bitch' actually saved his life twice already. So I'm thinking the wrong person is holding you back... Any last words? Something for the cameras, maybe?" she asked, taking a few steps forward, the knife glinting on the sunlight.

The boy spat out some blood.

"I'd rather it be a man than a little girl," he said. Haymitch twisted the boy's arms again.

"That's too bad," she muttered.

And without another warning, she drew her arm up and threw the knife. It flew straight at them; Haymitch could only watch as it came towards him.

It landed in the boy's chest, the blade sinking in quickly. He felt the body go limp, and quickly dropped it.

He took the blade out and cleaned it on the boy's pants before putting it back in its holster.

He then turned to May.

"What the fuck?!" he yelled, walking towards her.

"What?" she asked, stepping forward to close the distance between them, glaring up at him.

"You closed your eyes as you threw! You know the importance of _aim_ , right?!"

"I didn't miss! And what were you doing, stepping into his aim with the arrow?" she said angrily, hitting his chest with a fist. He let out a grunt, and then breathed in, noticing how close they were. "Why did you do that?" she asked.

He couldn't answer; he could only look at her.

She hit his chest again, repeating the question. She then continued hitting him; his chest, arms, even one or two on his neck and face. At that he had to take over and embrace her in a bear hug. She was shaking.

"What if you had missed, May? I would be gone… what would have happened then?"

She pulled away and took a few deep breaths, turning her back to him. He reached out and grabbed her wrist to turn her around, meeting her angry gaze.

"I would've killed him off as well!" she said, glaring at him as she closed the distance again.

He sighed and leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. He heard her give a surprised gasp, but she kept still. Their breaths mingled as he kept his eyes closed.

'I need to get you to the final three. I can help you then,' he thought, breathing her in, his hand absentmindedly rising to rest on her on her hip.

She gasped and drew back unexpectedly. He frowned, opening his eyes; and the look on her face told him he had said his thought out loud.

"Haymitch-" she started, but the whir and horn of the hovercraft made them both look up as it descended into the clearing. His hand on her hip squeezed as he yelled out.

"Get their bags, I'll get the weapons!"

The hovercraft let out a small blast of a horn in a warning but they stayed, moving quickly and grabbing everything they could, running away just in time as the claw came out.

They leaned against a big tree, facing away from the hovercraft, catching their breath as they waited for it to leave.

As the sound of the whir faded away, May dropped the bags and opened all of them. She let out a disgruntled cry as she grasped at leaves, dirt, and twigs that filled each bag. There was only one canteen to salvage.

Haymitch had to fight for her to keep the canteen and the two knives the girls were holding. The bickering only made him miss her more even though they were together. He wasn't sure he would've made it this far without her.

"You're giving me that look again. It needs to stop," she whispered, sounding as though she was in pain.

"Just planning schemes… the usual," he lied.

"Let's keep moving."


	16. The Games: Day 10

_Four left._

The branches got thicker and thornier as they continued. They hacked away at it with their knives, but they were too small to really do any damage, which slowed them down. They opted to climb over it, using their blankets to cover the thorns as they edged along.

The brush abruptly stopped, and all surrounding forest and life stopped at an eerily straight line as they stepped down and into a large dirt clearing, ending at a cliff up ahead. Beyond was all barren; just dirt, dust, and jagged rocks.

This was it. The end of the Arena.

They both stood there, catching their breath, eyes wide at the sight, such a drastic change from the forest setting for the past couple of days. The sun was bearing right down on them, not hindered by the trees. Haymitch had to blink to adjust his eyes.

"Well," May broke the silence with a sigh, "that's all there is. Exciting stuff. Let's go back," she said, turning to climb back onto the brush.

"No," he said sternly. She stopped to turn back and stare at him.

"We don't even know how far down that drop-off is; this might not even be the end of it, it could just be..." he faded off when she shook her head, taking a small step back.

"There's only four of us left," her voice broke.

He frowned. He knew that.

He just didn't know what to do with the fact.

He took a step towards her but she shook her head, holding up her hand.

"We should say Goodbye here."

She turned away, her voice as shaky as her outreached palm.

He took the final steps to reach her and grasped her hand, bringing it to his chest.

She closed her eyes, but turned to face him.

"I don't... I can't have you dying for me."

"Mays," he said, squeezing her hand tightly, catching a quick glimpse of her wet eyes before she blinked and shook her head, looking away from him yet again.

She stayed silent, her arm falling limp in his grasp.

"Mays," he said again, trying to find other words to say. She pulled away, and turned to the side, looking away as she raised her head, steadying her shoulders, setting them straight.

"I can't do this. With only a few left," she said, a fake hardness to her tone of voice - it was still shaky.

He shook his head and opened his mouth to say something, but as though on que, a cannon blasted.

_Three left._

He stepped forward and used his thumb to wipe a tear from her cheek. Her body was shaking.

"Let me go, Haymitch."

He let out a grunt followed with a string of curses.

"You need more darts, we can-"

"No, I have to-" she started.

"Don't."

She shook her head.

"Goodbye, Haymitch."

"No. Mitch. I like it."

She gave him a broken smile.

"Goodbye, Mitch," she said, tears now streaming freely down her face, she wasn't bothering to hide them anymore.

"Bye, Mays," he whispered. She gave a final nod before she turned away and climbed over the brush, taking the blanket with her, all the while being silent. He grinned at that. She'd learned.

He watched her as she went out of sight, and then he watched some more.

He sighed and looked back out at the cliff, taking deep breaths to keep in control.

It was for their own good. Including himself, there were three tributes left in the Arena. What would happen if they'd had to fight? Would he turn on her - wanting, needing to get back to Finn and his dad? Would she turn on him, needing to get back to her twin sister, her family?

At first he thought it was sick of him to think so, but figuring the situation he was stuck in now, he couldn't help but think that he'd be glad the remaining tribute got to him first, or even her. In the history of the Games, District 12 barely lasted the first few days, nonetheless the final four. It said enough, and it would bring his district recognition. He surprisingly felt pride at that but then shook his head. The Games had gotten to him.

His face twisted in disgust at the thought and he shook his head again, focusing on the drop off in front of him. His hands tightened around the straps of his backpack as he walked over, skirting against the edge of the cliff as he looked down.

It was an abyss, the edge clearing into a dark nothing. The darkness was a couple yards wide, but then it turned back into the dirt and rock wasteland beyond.

There was an edge. An edge to keep the tributes in. This Arena was somewhere in the uninhibited wasteland of Panem, but like he had predicted, there was an end.

He felt an unexpected stab of pain in his leg, the cut was still sore but he had pushed most of the pain to the back of his mind. His leg buckled but he caught himself, gasping and pulling back, stumbling and falling down as a small chunk of the cliff he was standing on broke off, falling into the darkness.

He sighed, and shook his head, calming his rapidly beating heart - that was close.

However, this was disappointing. He didn't really know what he was expecting in the first place, but this was so... underwhelming.

He heard a large sucking sound, making him falter as he stayed still, unsure what was going on. Then there was a small beep, and a gust of wind that blew on him. Suddenly the chunks of the broken cliff flew back up, as though thrown. The rocks and dust scattered around him as he brought his hands up to shield himself against the larger pieces.

A last rock hit his hand, bouncing off and landing on the ground near him. Stunned, he sat up and grabbed it, tossing it over the edge as he sat and waited.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the sucking sound came back. Another beep, another gust of wind, and the rock reappeared, flying straight at him. He brought out his hand in time and caught it, wincing at the pain - the rock had been propelled back at a fast pace.

He stared at the rock, then to the edge of the cliff, and started laughing in triumph.

It wasn't so underwhelming after all. This was something he could use.

This is why he was here - his gut was right. There really was something at the edge of the Arena.

He nodded to himself, a smile creeping in as he looked around, throwing a few more rocks over to double confirm his theory.

The noises echoed with each other and after a large gust of wind, the rocks were flying back at him. He ducked in time, laughing.

He stood back up, shaking his head of the small rubble, and took a step towards the cliff when he heard a scream.

He faltered.

It could be May…

The sound was close enough... she couldn't move that fast on the thorny brushes...

The next scream was longer, however it sounded different.

"Mays!"

They broke alliance - actually, she broke their alliance - but he wouldn't ignore her screams. He wouldn't live with himself he stayed here, just listening and not doing anything.

He snapped into movement, tightening the straps of his backpack as he climbed onto the blanket he'd left on the thorny brush, moving forward at a fast pace, ignoring when he encountered some sharp pricks at his skin. But he was still moving slow... and there hadn't been any screams. Or canons. What was happening? Was she okay?

He stopped and looked down at the blanket, and then at his hands. He needed them for combat if that's what it came to.

He bent back and grabbed a knife from his boot, bringing it forward and cutting through the blanket, making two large strips. He stumbled at first but managed to wrap the fabric around his hands as makeshift mitts, deciding that should be enough.

He started moving faster this time, climbing over the thorny brush, ignoring the cuts on his knees and legs, his hands staying unharmed as he moved.

There was another scream, this one prominent and long.

"NO!" he yelled out, dodging tree trunks as he sprinted towards the sound.

He came into a clearing and saw May fighting off large pink birds the size of ducks. They had sharp beaks, and all he could see was blood. In the distance, he saw what he was sure was a body, with a few of the same birds pecking at it - but the majority of them were swarming around May, and she let out a soft yell as she crumbled to the ground.

He yelled out, getting the attention of a few of them. He sliced through their bodies with his knife as they attacked him, giving out high-pitched squawks as they fell to the ground. The rest flew away in fright, squawking as they left.

He yelled and killed the rest surrounding her body, not letting any others get away.

He dropped to his knees next to her, the sight of her making his eyes wet. She had cuts all over, bleeding freely.

"Mitch! Thank god," she whispered, reaching out to him, her hands cupping his cheeks. He covered her hands with his. "I'm glad it's you here," she said, wincing and crying out in pain.

He reached forward and added pressure to a wound on her neck, another on her upper chest, right near her heart.

"Pressure, right here," he said, lifting one of her hands to cover the wound on her chest. Her hand stopped his, grasping his wrist as she gave a curt shake of her head.

He bent forward and pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.

"I should have made you stay," he whispered.

"That would've made it worse..." she said, gasping.

"Worse than this?" he said angrily, pulling back.

"It's my fault… don't worry."

"What could you have possibly done wrong-"

"I was too loud…" she said shakily.

He shook his head vigorously.

"Your feet were just attracted to twigs that one day-"

"I was crying… and then I saw them... they were already pecking at his body... that was the canon we heard. And I wasn't quiet to evade them..." she said, looking ashamed, turning her head to look away. He grabbed her chin to turn her head to make her look at him.

"Why were you crying, May?" he whispered. More said tears streamed down her face, cleaning the blood from her cuts.

"I knew I had to leave you… but I… " she said slowly and shakily.

Without another thought he bent down and kissed her, his heart coming to a stop.

Her lips were cold.

He felt the first tear fall. Trailing down his nose, falling onto her cheek.

"Oh, god," he whispered against her lips. He turned his head away, trying to find something to throw, to get this anger out, instead of crying.

She grasped his hand, and he turned back to her.

Her skin was now a pale, unnatural white. She was shivering, crying, and yet still smiling up at him.

"Fucking birds," she muttered softly.

He shook his head when he broke into a grin.

"Fucking birds. Squirrels, butterflies, _everything_ ," he replied.

She closed her eyes, but he shook her, and they blinked open.

"Still here. So are you. You've got one left."

The sob ripped out of him, he couldn't help it.

"How?" he whispered, and leaned down to give her another slight kiss. She let out a happy sigh, and she gripped him tightly, pulling him down so her short breath brushed at his ear.

"Fight."

They were both crying silently, tears streaming down their faces, the dirt and blood clearing away. She released her grip, falling back to the ground, shaking her head.

"Only one of the heartbreak kids will die in the Arena," she continued.

"Not me!"

"Look at the state I'm in, you handsome fool..." she gasped, fighting for breath. "Just… I hate to ask you, but… stay?" she whispered.

He gave a shuddering sigh and pulled her up against him, cradling her in his arms.

"You beautiful fighter," he whispered, and she let out a small laugh, wincing. He kissed her forehead and continued.

"I grabbed your hand at the Reaping, and we ran away. We fought the guards and soon everybody joined in... we all escaped."

"We lived in peace," she whispered, her eyes bright, living in the fantasy with him.

"No tessera. No Games."

"No death," she gasped.

He shook his head and held her tight, rocking her again.

"I taught you how to hunt. We laughed, we fought," his voice broke, but he continued, "we lived."

"Thank you, Mitch." By the second her body was growing colder but stayed still as she silently cried. He squeezed her tight, tucking his face in her neck to hide himself as he let go and cried with her.

His heart stopped beating when he felt her body go limp in his arms.

The canon sounded, drowning out his scream.

He heard the hovercraft approach and take the other body. He heard and felt the strong wind as it came to a stop above him. He tucked his head onto her shoulder to shield his eyes from the heavy draft. The horn sounded, ready to take her away.

From him.

He shook his head and stayed, grasping her now lifeless body tightly.

The horn sounded yet again, this time longer.

He pulled back, his face set in stone.

He was alone now.

He lay her down on the ground and crossed her hands over her stomach. He bent over and kissed her forehead, his eyes squeezed shut.

The hovercraft sounded the horn again, this time short and to the point: ' _It's time to go._ '

He slowly stood up, raising his head to look at the hovercraft. He refrained from giving it the bird and instead clenched his hands into fists as he walked to the edge of the clearing, watching as the hovercraft came down, the claw descending and picking up her lifeless body.

He rubbed his hands over his face, wiping away the last evidence of his tears.

 _'Fight,'_ she told him.

He took a last shuddering breath, gaining his composure and setting his face straight.

It was all he could do now.


	17. The Games: Day 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gore

_Two tributes remaining._

Even though he knew he had to get back to the edge of the Arena, Haymitch aimlessly wandered around as he tried to clear his thoughts and get his mind away from the shivering, dying Maysilee in his arms. Her final breaths, final words, the odd indescribable way her body felt during her last seconds of life before her body gave-up and accepted death.

Whoever was left, he would have to kill them. He could only wish that the Arena killed them; but he knew better.

This was the final battle - the last two remaining.

The Gamemakers never interfered with that. They had to have a final showdown, the final Act, didn't they?

Now it was kill or be killed. Simple as that. No loopholes, no waiting it out - a fight was coming, and he had to be ready.

Nightfall came quicker than expected. The thorny brush was just in sight, but he knew better to make himself an easy target. In the last rays of the sunset he managed to find the scraps of the blanket he had cut to protect his hands and pocketed them before he jumped onto a low hanging branch of a nearby tree and settled to rest. The Capitol anthem started blaring, but Haymitch kept his head down, ignoring it, the same he had done the past few nights. He was numb about it - and if he saw Maysilee's face, it would set him back.

The Anthem was short; there were only two faces to show.

He closed his eyes during the closing anthem, spinning a knife he held in his hand for distraction - something to focus on. But soon enough, sleep overtook him.

* * *

A nightmare of May, blood dripping from her eyes as she cried out for help jarred him out of his sleep.

It was now morning, the sun peeking through the trees.

The snap of a twig made him jump and he turned his head towards the sound. His heart stopped and he frowned at the sight of Remy walking towards the tree - towards him. The other tribute remaining.

He stopped breathing, hoping she would move on.

She had bloody cuts all over her body, some looked fresh, other were deep red, obviously infected. She still walked strong, wielding nothing except a large axe and a wide grin as she checked her surroundings.

Unfortunately she slowed to a stop, just past the tree he was hiding in.

"Too bad about your girlfriend, Twelve," she said.

He sighed, clenching his eyes tight for a moment before he swung his leg over and jumped down, landing steadily on the ground.

"Who's to say I didn't lead her straight to their nest?" he asked as he stood up straight.

She tilted her head, looking him over the same as he was doing to her.

"Those dried tear streaks on your face say something different," she said, a grin creeping in on her face.

He only stared, refraining from wiping at his face. That would show even more weakness, and Remy was confident enough to only be holding a weapon and nothing else.

"I would say sorry that it had to come to this," she continued, "but I've only been killing other girls. It's quite a setback for our gender, but I've found that they're easier to kill."

She spun the axe in her hand.

"So this is a challenge. My first kill of a boy being my last kill will make my victory sweeter, don't you think?" she asked, using both hands to spin the axe around, moving so lightly it might've well have been a baton she was twirling.

"Funny, I was thinking the same... a little girl as my first kill," he replied, clenching the knife he had fell asleep with tight in his hand.

Her smile flickered as the axe stopped twirling, her knuckles turning white on the handle of the axe.

She took a step forward, the same time he did.

"You ready to die, Twelve? Any last words to your loved ones? I'm sure there are at least a few cameras on you right now, just look up and they'll broadcast your final message."

He grinned at her almost too blasé attitude - she had to be compensating for _something_ with that tone. Maybe she was just as scared as he was.

"Not really," he replied slowly, "but this should be fun."

With an exaggerated battle yell, she ran towards him and she swung her axe forward when she was in range.

It gave him enough warning to dodge the blade and bring the hand holding the knife down onto her arm, blood spurting out as she yelled out in pain as she dropped the axe. She staggered back as he kicked the weapon away, leaving her empty-handed.

Or so he thought.

She lifted her leg and grabbed a knife from her boot, twirling it with unnecessary showmanship as she stopped in a fighting stance before moving quickly, swinging her arm forward and cutting him across his chest, the searing pain making him grunt.

She threw a punch to his face, following with a jab to his gut. He regained his stance and took swings with both hands, one a fist, the other holding his large knife; but she dodged every blow.

He swung another punch but faked it, bringing up his other arm to cut her with his knife, making her cry out again.

With no warning she threw herself to the ground and rolled, standing up quickly at his side, throwing her arm and stabbing his stomach with her small knife, making him yell out. With the knife still embedded in his stomach she pulled her arm, tearing at his skin, making the wound larger. The terrible pain made him yell out as he heard an odd suction sound, and he suddenly felt lighter, as though he had suddenly lost weight...

He felt small hands wrap around his neck and he laughed. She actually thought she could snap his neck? The size of her hands: no matter the exertion, she didn't have the right grip to finish the job.

He reached behind him and grabbed her body, bending down to throw her over his head and onto the ground, yelling out at the piercing pain in his stomach at the movement. She groaned, and then yelled out when he bent forward and landed stabs at her shoulder, chest and stomach; his grasp on his knife never faltered. She whimpered, staying still.

He took the moment to stagger back, barely able to stand on his feet, letting go of his knife as he brought his hands forward to the wound at his stomach. He froze, feeling _something_ protruding from the wound - meaning something that belonged inside of his body was currently hanging out. He closed his eyes as his head felt lighter. He took in a deep breath, clenching his jaw tight as he tucked whatever it was – he refused to look down – back into his body, whimpering at the odd feeling and pain of it. 

He almost stumbled at the abnormal feeling of putting his body back together, but stayed on his feet as Remy groaned loudly. He took a deep breath, and then another before he bent down, keeping one hand on his stomach, his other picking up his knife, feeling lightheaded but determined.

She had to die... before he did. He didn't make it this far for him to be killed, the final death before the end of the Games.

He could win this. Even if he died in the process, all he had to do was outlive Remy, and his family could get the winnings.

He grasped his knife tightly as he kicked at her hip the hardest he could, still keeping his hand on the open wound on his stomach. She cried out and her body fell limp again. He brought his knife down to her face, cutting across her nose and sinking it into her right eye - but surprisingly despite the wound she brought her arms out to stop him in time before the blade pierced her brain.

But enough debilitating damage had been done - just as she had done to him.

She screamed and kicked at his knee from the side, making him let go of the knife as he crumbled to the ground. He felt weight on his stomach, and groaned as he opened his eyes in time for her to land a punch on his jaw. He aimlessly punched at her, trying to aim at her newer and infected wounds, landing only a few hits.

She screamed and faltered, grabbing the knife embedded in her eye and tearing it away.

There was another piercing scream, and he looked over to see that the knife, with it's serrated edge, had ripped Remy's eye-ball from her head, the now dead clumps of tissue hanging on the blade. Without a second thought he reached for her face and pushed his thumb on her now empty eye socket, making her scream even more. With his other hand he tried to reach for another knife on his boot, bust she surprisingly landed a well placed punch on his Adams apple.

He took in a breath, choking, and brought up his knee to hit her on the back. She came forward and he butted his head against hers, taking her momentary stun to shove her away and roll over, leaving her on the floor alone.

He stumbled to stand up, groaning as more blood spilled onto the hand he held against his stomach. He left the knife, knowing it was lost in the grass and that he had many others as he rushed the best he could for the border of the arena, climbing on top of the thorny brush, ignoring the extra pain as he climbed over it without protection - he didn't have any time to wrap his hands.

He heard her curse and scream at him and he quickened his pace - or as much as he could with using only one hand, his other holding his stomach to make sure his intestines stayed inside his body. Remy's following screams and yells gave him the needed motivation to keep moving.

He finally reached the edge of the brush and fell, groaning as he hit the hard dirt ground.

"There's nowhere to hide now!" she shouted, sounding too close for comfort. It only took hat moment for him to realize that all other signs of life - the twitters of the birds, the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees, small chirps or caws of creatures - it had all stopped.

He stood and stumbled towards the edge, his head lighter, his legs barely holding him upright.

He started seeing memories flash before his eyes; the end was near.

Finn, after Haymitch took him on his first hunt, holding up a dead squirrel with a big smile. Finn, jumping on top of Haymitch to wake him up, laughing with abandon as he groaned and they wrestled; their morning ritual.

His dad, hugging him tightly, giving broken and awkward yet confirming words of love and comfort. His dad, coming home from a long day of work, but never without a smile to give them, opening his arms wide the second he walked through the door, always lifting Finn high up in the air.

Maysilee, smirking at him after he coughed on his first alcoholic drink. Maysilee, pushing at his cheeks so he would spit out the berries she thought were poisonous in the Training Center. Maysilee grinning above him after she saved his life - the first time - in the Arena. Her soft blush at his compliment of her expert campsite at the top of the quarry. Her grinning face the second time she saved his life.

Mays, smiling at him as they walked through the Arena as though they were back home. Mays, shaking, bleeding, dying in his arms, whispering a final command.

_"Fight."_

"Can do, May," he whispered to himself before he turned around, facing Remy. She was limping towards him, her axe back in her hand.

He stumbled in his step but managed to stay standing, keeping an eye on her as he shuffled back towards the edge. If he could lure her over… it would be an easy push. If, or when she came back the fall would probably kill her, or mangle her body enough for him to finish the job easily.

She took a few steps towards him, smiling grotesquely as blood flowed from her left eye socket.

There were no more words.

She raised her hand and threw the axe. He ducked in time and it flew past him, flying over the cliff's edge.

He fell down onto his knees, hoping that it would work.

He smiled at Remy, standing there weaponless, her own legs shaking - but she stayed standing. He reached to his boot, and brought out his last knife, small and useless.

She smiled. And when he raised his hand, holding the small and useless blade, she just laughed.

He fell over on his side, feeling faint, his body shaking uncontrollably. He let his hand go from his stomach and heard a spurting noise. Remy laughed even harder.

Then Haymitch heard a whooshing sound, and a beep.

He only watched.

The sound of the spinning blade of the axe cutting through the air was all he focused on as it flew through the air above him, heading straight towards Remy.

It found it's target, hitting her chest and sinking in deep, her body falling back at the impact. The dust settled and Haymitch blinked, staring at Remy's unmoving feet...

The canon sounded.

He fell down onto his back, looking up at a clear blue sky. It took a moment or two for him to comprehend it.

He blinked and then suddenly started laughing even as he felt tears well up in his eyes. Once he started, it seemed that he was unable to stop. His laughter finally faded as his head felt lighter - he knew he was at his end.

There was a split second of eerie, still, immovable silence before an overzealous and too loud string of a trumpet blasted around around him - a musical accompaniment to his last kill.

" _Ladies and Gentleman, the Victor of the Second Quarter Quell and the 50th Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy!_ "

He closed his eyes again, taking small breaths. A part of him thought it was a dream - but the sounds were so loud he knew it was real.

He made it.

He actually made it.

He fought.

He survived.

He heard the sounds of a hovercraft – god he hated that sound – and opened his eyes to see a crowd of Peacekeepers in their white uniforms swarm around him, the words of the Peacekeepers surrounding him fading into nothing as white surrounded his vision and overtook him before he fell unconscious.


	18. The Victor

_One left. The Victor._

He blinked his eyes open, his vision blurry.

He closed his eyes for a beat before opening them, his vision almost fighting to come into focus before he heard a prominent gasp - not his.

"Oh, my god! He's awake! _HE'S AWAKE_!"

"Jesus, Cass, bring it down a notch," he groaned, recognizing the voice immediately.

He heard his mentor laugh.

The last moments he had spent with her before he went to the Games... he had treated them as his last with her.

He blinked his eyes open and turned his head to watch her.

And yet, here he was, hearing her _laugh_.

"What did you expect, kid? The surgeries took a while, but they said you wake up two days ago."

"Days?" he whispered, suddenly out of breath. "Surgeries?" His chest hurt. His stomach hurt... his _body_ hurt...

"You won, you know that right?" she reached forward to rest a hand on his arm, squeezing his wrist. "Haymitch... you _won_. You're alive," she squeezed him again, her eyebrows furrowing but her eyes in a daze, "What you did out there-"

Suddenly Cassie was pushed away and a man in white scrubs and face mask loomed over him, poking his body with a needle without warning and checking his vitals. Haymitch cursed the man as the he poked at him as though he wasn't alive at all...

The man in the face mask stood up straight and looked up at a corner of the room, giving a final nod. Haymitch followed to man's gaze to see a camera mounted in the corner. There were camera's mounted in every corner of the room.

"All clear. Victor is one hundred percent up to par," the man said before exiting, leaving Haymitch and Cassie alone again. She took her seat again, clearing her throat as she stared at him. He only stared back.

"So, Haymitch, where do you think you are right now?" Cassie asked slowly.

"Probably in the Capitol. Like you said, I... I'm here... so that means my terrible nightmare is actually reality, and like the masked asshole said as though I wasn't in the room, I'm the 'Victor'. Did I leave anything out?"

Her eyes grew wet.

He frowned.

"Haymitch, what you did out there…" she repeated, "I can't even begin to-"

"Then don't begin at all. Not now. Actually not ever, alright? Just… get me the hell out of here. Get me home. Is my family here? Can I see Finn?"

Cassie shook her head.

"Family reunion is always back at the Victor's District. There's the Victor's interview, the Victor's parade and then you'll be on your way home."

"Christ, you guys and your parades... fine, fine. Let's get this all over with. If you tell Clara to keep her voice to a low volume, she can help me prepare."

* * *

"It's almost time, kid," Cassie said, sitting down next to him, taking the glass of Scotch from his hand.

He'd had a continuous glass since he started. Thanks to the Avox's it was never empty - since breakfast.

Though sometimes they would add ice, and he suspected even juice instead - some glasses were suddenly sweeter. He'd always tried to catch their gaze, as though to maybe thank them or confirm his suspicions that they were trying to keep him on the edge between drunk and pass out drunk - but their eyes were always averted, never moving.

The liquor was now his favorite choice of drink - so he didn't really care about what he was about to do; he was intoxicated enough. Thankfully the Avox's made sure of that.

"Are they going to drag out Maysilee?" he asked, already knowing the answer, "I would rather not talk about it... ever," he mumbled.

"Your alliance? Probably. Your kiss?" Cassie whispered the last part, and Haymitch snapped his head to glare at her.

He'd forgotten everything else in that moment when he held her dying body in his arms, even that the Games were being broadcast and there was most likely a group of cameras capturing their moment... he focused his attention back to Cassie.

She shook her head.

"The version they broadcast didn't show it. Remy ran into a pack of the squirrels you know so well just in time - the Gamemakers decided to show that instead."

He let out a held in breath, and closed his eyes. Those furry bastards actually saved him - he just didn't know it. And it explained the multiple cuts she already had when they faced off.

"Haymitch... about... I'm so sorry," Cassie whispered, but he just shook his head.

"Mr. Abernathy, it's time," a Peacekeeper said sternly as he entered the room.

Haymitch stood up, finishing the rest of his glass before tossing it onto the table, ignoring the glass tumbling onto the table and breaking on the floor, ready to bullshit his interview.

Which he barely remembered, thanks to the copious amounts of Scotch.

He found that the drink drowned out his nightmares and flashbacks of the Arena when he was asleep, but more importantly when he was awake. Having waking nightmares during the day was a different experience altogether. The Capitol had expertly hidden the effects of post traumatic stress disorder of their previous victors. He now figured that they were all drugged or drunk all of the time, like he was.

Except Cassie, everybody was silent towards him.

At first, they had greeted him with enthusiasm and congratulations, but after he sent a worn-out glare their way they shut up; which he much preferred. There was nothing to congratulate. They all still saw it as a Game. He just wanted to survive to get back to his family, to help keep them fed. To help keep _them_ alive.

Mackie dressed him for the Victor's parade quietly - this time with another simple suit like he had worn for the interview - and then walked with him to the chariot, the same one he rode during the introductory parade with Dylan.

But he wasn't there. Dylan was dead. They all were dead; forty-seven of them. Nobody else was there but him.

The lone survivor. The _Victor_.

Mackie turned and gripped his shoulders, holding him tightly.

"I will never forget you Haymtich, and I'm not just saying it for Victor's sake."

He blinked in surprise and yet waited for her to continue, ready to block out her useless words of apologies and admiration, just as he had done to everybody else who spewed the same bullshit - though her beginning was different.

However, she surprised him even more.

"Watching you… a fighter with pure compassion... fighting for survival with a conscious... it was nothing I've ever seen before. That first girl you came across… then Maggie… then the boy and girl with the butterfly… and the alliance with-"

"Get to the point," he snapped, not wanting to hear _her_ name.

She frowned.

"Enough of that shit, Haymitch," she snapped. He raised his eyebrows. "You need to put on a great smile now or the Capitol will give you problems you don't want to deal with. On top of the force field fiasco-"

"Fiasco?"

"Haymitch! Get on that chariot NOW!" Clara shrieked, interrupting them. Haymitch jumped up and held the reigns tightly to balance himself, turning back to his designer.

"Mackie what did I do-"

"Smile, kid! Goddammit, just SMILE!" she shouted as the horses starting trotting, leading him into the blinding sunlight and a deafening cheer from the crowd.

He tried to hide his drunken state as he waved obligingly to the screaming colorful crowd, cheering his 'victory' of out-living and killing the forty-seven Tributes to get here.

The chariot stopped near the podium, and he was lead off by more Peacekeepers - this time not manhandled by them - leading him to the large platform where he would be crowned.

He watched President Lannis approach him, smile in full view as he shook his hand, someone standing the the side holding a pillow where the Victor's crown lay.

Haymitch felt an unfamiliar shiver run down his spine at the look the man was giving him.

It reminded him of Remy's gaze before their final fight: unflinching, merciless, and out for blood.

Haymitch stood there absentmindedly, focusing on keeping his legs straight and staying chipper and happy, as Mackie had advised. Given his Scotch induced state, he found it difficult, but he held is own.

As President Lannis put the Victor's crown on his head, leading to another uproar of the crowd, he took to chance to lean forward and whisper:

"Smile while you still can."

* * *

He was sitting on the sofa in the penthouse, absentmindedly watching the forest scene May had liked, his eyes tracking dragonflies, rabbits, or the occasional bird.

"Hey, kid."

He turned and watched as Cassie came to stand over him.

"Hey."

"Up on the roof, come on," she said, grabbing his arm tightly.

She dragged him to the elevator despite his protests, opened a hidden panel on the side under the buttons, and pressed in a code onto a small keypad. The elevator shot up quickly, and the doors opened to the roof.

This time instead of bright sunlight, a hovercraft, and a row of Peacekeepers to ensure he made his way to the Arena... it was bare empty concrete.

"What the hell, Cassie?" he said, pulling from her grip and walking near the edge, his mouth falling open from this view of the Capitol.

So many colored lights, differently shaped buildings all shiny and clean; with no sight of natural green, not a tree in sight. The rich; living in their homes in comfort, bellies full, no worries in their future. No hunger. No raised possibility of being chosen for the Games.

"First off, you did good."

"Well, yeah, there's only one winner, right?" he snapped. His mouth felt dry after finishing his second bottle of wine for the night.

"Secondly, you fucked up, kid."

He turned his gaze from the bright lights of the Capitol to a frowning Cassie.

"What?"

"That thing with the border, using the cliff… they're pissed, Haymitch."

"Why? They're the ones that made that abomination of an Arena, right?" he slurred, walking forward to the edge.

"Not with the intention for someone to reach the end! It's the same forcefield they use on this roof. Throw your body over, and you come right back up," she said, coming forward to stand next to him. "The thorny brush was meant to dissuade you from going any further; nobody was supposed to find it."

"I still don't understand what-"

"They see it as you exploiting a weakness. You won in a way that showed the Capitol doesn't have complete control in the Games. And the Capitol… they don't play nice with those who show their weaknesses."

He sucked in a big breath.

"Shit," he breathed out.

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Haymitch… you gotta clean up your act. When you get home they leave you alone, that's until the Victory Tour, but that's later. For now… and even then... you need to kiss some serious ass."

"President Lannis, he told me to smile while I still could… is he going to hurt my family? Finn, my dad? Will they retaliate against May's family-"

"Not unless you play stupid," she shook her head, "you did well with that for the exiting interview, but you need to keep playing it. You didn't know that the axe would come back. Yes, the rocks came back, but you thought only lighter objects could come back up, not the weapon. Using that force field made them look stupid... you need to turn the attention away from that, and sadly, onto you."

He sighed.

"Can you do that, Mitch?" she asked.

He turned around quickly, his eyes glaring.

"Never call me that. _Nobody_ gets to call me that."

Cassie's eyes widened, but she nodded as she tilted her head.

"Okay... but Haymitch, can you-"

"Just get Clara to help me with the questions, I can be a puppet for a while... I guess."


	19. Home

Haymitch followed Cassie's advice well, and played stupid as he answered multiple questions on his walk towards the train to take him home. Finally, home. No more of the Capitol... for now.

"I thought only something as light as the rocks would come back over; nothing like an axe!"

"I was ready for the end but I couldn't go down without a fight, that's why I thought I could try with my knife. She had only one eye, her depth perception was off."

"I thought if I could bring her to the edge, I might push her over, nice and clean."

It worked well enough. People snickered at him, shaking their heads, frowning as though they thought he might be lying... but they finally left him alone.

Mackie and Cassie both shook his hand and gave a final nod, both showing plastered smiles.

Haymitch had said his separate, personal farewells back at the Penthouse. Both Cassie and Mackie had gotten teary, which freaked Haymitch out, but he still let them hug him.

"See you at the Victory Tour, Haymitch," Mackie said now as he stepped onto the train, the doors closing behind him.

It was the food compartment, the same he had boarded when he was on his way to the Capitol. Back then, there were three others to keep him awkward and silent company. Back then, he was on to face forty-seven other kids in the Arena.

Which he had survived.

And now... he was alone.

He walked to the drink cart, picking a random purple liquid and pouring himself a generous glass.

He had just rested in the chair, taking his second sip when he heard the door slide open.

"Can you give me an hour, Clara? I need some time to prepare myself."

"For what, exactly?" President Lannis replied.

Haymitch froze in the chair, blinking as he closed his eyes. He opened them as he turned to watch the Capitol President walk to the drink cart and choose a brown drink, pouring himself a small glass. Dressed in a blue and green pinstriped suit, his night black hair slicked back and down his neck, ending at his shoulders, he had an air of violence and power as he came and sat across from Haymitch.

"Mr. Abernathy," President Lannis said, his voice dripping with deadly charm, a continuous grin on his face.

"President Lannis, what a lovely and unexpected surprise!"

The President only smiled some more, watching Haymitch squirm as he sipped his drink. Haymitch took a big gulp of his own.

"That's quite a drink you've got there. Even I can't really handle it," President Lannis finally spoke.

Haymitch shrugged, taking another gulp.

"Tastes like chicken," he replied.

The President's smile grew wider and Haymitch swore he heard a chuckle.

"Mr. Abernathy, however pleasant a visit, I'm afraid we have a problem."

His heart skipped a beat, but he managed to mirror the President's relaxed posture.

"And what might that be?" he asked.

"Your little… trick with our border force field makes a mockery of the Games... a mockery of me," his eyes grew dark, his smile staying still.

"Sir, I didn't even know about the force-"

"That's a lie, and we both know it. What is your... angle, Mr. Abernathy?"

"Angle?"

"Did you think to start a new rebellion? Giving ideas to future tributes, how to manipulate us in the games... or even a chance to escape?"

Haymitch fought to keep his expression neutral. The way President Lannis had framed it... that meant he actually had a chance of an escape!?

He blinked, and shook his head.

"Sir, I didn't-"

"We all know what happened the last rebellion. And the one before that... the one before that. Surely you paid attention in History at school; it's quite an important subject."

Haymitch sighed.

He put his drink on a nearby table, trying to hide his shaking hand. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to look the President right in the eye.

"President Lannis. Watch my face right now, and know that when I say I didn't have any hidden agendas when I used the border, I'm not lying. I was insistent about it because I knew it could be a good hiding place. And then the Volcano erupted, who knew if it would become active again and wipe out the forest..."

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"I didn't know it would come to this… I played stupid, I -"

"Of course I know that, Clara and Cassie are the best at what they do: keeping the Tributes in line. Unfortunately, it seems you were too much of a wild card."

"Sir, I have no intention of whatever resistance you have in mind. I just want to go home and live peacefully with my brother and my dad, nothing else. I have no rebellions on my mind, I swear. I will put on my mask again for the Victory Tour, and then that is the last you will hear of me."

The President's smile twitched, but he shook his head.

"That is where you are wrong, Mr. Abernathy. Now that you are the only living Victor of District 12, you are to be the mentor for the Tributes for the rest of the Games until another one comes along."

Haymitch stopped, frowning.

He grabbed his glass and took a big gulp, coughing lightly.

"Therein lies our problem. I need to be certain enough that you won't raise trouble with me, or my Capitol," the President continued.

"You can be certain, sir," Haymitch said tensely. The train halted for a second, making him spill part of his drink, and then it started slowing down, coming to a silent halt.

President Lannis stood up, finishing his drink before putting the glass on the table. He straightened his suit and brushed something away on his arm.

"Your word is not enough, Mr. Abernathy. You will be seeing me soon."

The exiting doors opened and two Peacekeepers stepped forward, flanking the doorway as President Lannis left without another look back. The Peacekeepers left, the door sliding closed behind them.

A few moments later, the train started moving again.

Haymitch chugged the rest of his drink. He stood up to get more, but tripped over his feet and fell down. He groaned and turned onto his back, staring up at the impeccable metal ceiling above him, giving him a distorted reflection.

He stayed that way, unmoving, unthinking, until Clara burst in to prepare him for the homecoming event.

* * *

The train started slowing down, a loud whistle piercing the silence between him and Clara.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

Clara didn't fail to mention a dozen times that he was now the only living victor of District 12… everybody would be there to welcome him home.

But he could only think of President Lannis.

_"Your word is not enough…"_

Would he punish his family?

"It's time, Haymitch!" Clara said excitedly.

He sent her a disgusted look and he swore he saw her smile falter for a split second before she stood up, bright face back in place. He stood as well as the train came to a stop.

"Smile! And remember what Cassie said-"

"Got it," he interrupted as he walked to the doors.

He took a deep breath before they opened and he was blinded by blinding flashes and greeted by a large roar of a crowd. He blinked and stepped down onto the platform, smiling and raising a hand to wave.

His eyes adjusted as the flashes diminished and he saw a large crowd, all crammed as close as they could get. The amount of people was endless - he suspected the entire District was there.

He looked to the front, and his hand faltered as he spotted his dad and brother, cheering and jumping up and down.

Nearby, he spotted Mrs. Donner, the genius chocolatier.

Then his heart stopped, and his hand fell.

It was May.

Smiling awkwardly and cheering halfheartedly amongst the crowd, watching him intently.

Her gaze wasn't like May's…

Of course it wasn't her… she died in his arms.

It was Miriam, her twin sister.

"Haymitch!" he heard someone whisper behind him.

He raised his hand again and waved some more, smiling as the crowd continued to cheer. His eyes wandered over everybody, and he did a double take as he noticed President Lannis, standing on the sidelines, grinning evilly.

He turned his head and raised his hand to give a small flick of the wrist, his index finger pointing into the crowd.

Haymitch looked to where he pointed... right at his dad and his brother, both crying happy tears as they continued jumping up and down as they waved and cheered.

Haymitch's eyes flitted back to President Lannis, who shook his head and turned, disappearing into a blockade of Peacekeepers.

He looked back towards Finn and his dad, feeling his own tears coming.

That's when he saw the two peacekeepers pushing their way through the crowd, heading straight towards his only family.

His hand fell, and he took a step forward, intent on beating the men who were now restraining his father, and picking up Finn, his cries of distress lost in the cheering crowd.

"Haymitch I will kill you myself if you don't stand still and smile! Wave!" Clara hissed.

"But Clara, my-"

"Reacting to it will only make it worse, Haymitch. SMILE!"

Haymitch only stared at Clara. Her plastered smile twitched at the corner, and then she turned her head as though she couldn't look at him anymore.

She knew.

She knew, and was still telling him to smile.

He looked back towards the crowd, his brother and father nowhere in sight.

He didn't even get to say goodbye, talk to the them, hug them one last time-

"Haymitch!" Clara snapped.

He continued staring, and took a step towards her. She faltered, her eyes widening, scared.

Instead he reached forward and hugged her.

He felt her body relax in his arms, but he moved his mouth to her ear.

"You _knew._ You're just like them: you don't give a shit about any of us. Get yourself reassigned to another District, Clara. Because if I see you again, I'll kill you."

He pulled back, not even bothering to look at her as he turned back to the crowd and raised a hand to wave. The crowd erupted into louder cheers, but to him they sounded as though he was miles away.

He was alone.

Finn was gone, his dad was gone.

He had nobody.

What he had fought for, who he had fought for to survive - were gone.

It was all for nothing.

He looked at the crowd, his arm waving absentmindedly.

He should've let Remy finish him off.


	20. Epilogue

_The Reaping of the 74th Hunger Games_

"Christ, Haymitch! Did you bother to shower the past week? Did you even get the masking spray I got for you? Of course not, you've taken home in each and every one of the houses in the Victor's Village, god knows which address I send to!"

Haymitch groaned and shook his head.

Twenty four years of this woman.

The first time he met Effie so many years ago, the new escort and host of Disctrict 12, he'd almost wished that Clara hadn't taken his threat so seriously and stayed.

But the more he thought about it... he probably would've killed her. The woman that had the audacity - while _knowing_ that his only family was taken away to be killed as extra leverage to make him behave - to tell him to smile and wave at the welcoming crowd... yeah, he would've snapped her neck with his bare hands.

Which was something he now had the urge doing to the woman standing in front him, whining and bitching as she did each year he arrived at the Hall of Justice; drunk as per usual. She still acted surprised each time.

"That spray was shit, smelled like you," he muttered, stumbling to the nearby drink cart, sniffing the right bottles until he found the water. Instead of pouring a glass he just raised the bottle above him and poured it over his head, sputtering as he dropped it and rubbed the water on his face and through his hair, still in the same cut and style he'd worn to his Games.

Anything different would be a lie.

He would never be a different person than who he was as those trumpets blasted, proclaiming him the Victor.

The murderer. The lucky bastard that survived only to have his family killed and the Capitol holding his life in it's hands.

Not that he didn't try to end it.

The year he spent alone, only traveling to the Black Market to get the best moonshine and some food to keep him afloat, he'd tried drinking himself under. Drowning himself in the small fountain in the middle of the Victor's Village. Even drunkenly walking to the border to electrocute himself on the border fence, only to realize that it didn't even work - it was just a fucking _fence_.

He'd only seen Miriam twice. Each time he was drunk, and each time he mistook her for May. The first time he'd actually attacked her with a sloppy drunken kiss and a bear hug, whispering that they could escape. Miriam had managed to knee him in the groin and cry out that May was gone - that it was just her. The second time, Miriam fought back when he approached her. And while he lay on the ground still smiling at the sight of May, she told him without even looking at him that he was to stop leaving half of his monthly winning salary on the Candy Shop's doorstep.

After that, he knew there wasn't really a way out. Even after he tried President Lannis' patience, showing up drunk to each Reaping, barely mentoring the hopeless kids thrusted into his care. Making ridiculous bets during the Games, even though as a Mentor it was forbidden.

It didn't do anything. He was still there.

He sighed, shaking his head to get rid of any extra water as he sighed and turned back to Effie, a scowl that was only reserved for him on her face.

"God help us all," she muttered as the main doors opened. Two Peacekeepers grabbed his arms and pushed him to follow the others onto the stage and in front of the crowd of new pickings.

He wondered who it would be this year. Kids that were his age when he entered the Games, or youngin's, unlucky bastards whose probability and luck just weren't on their side?

He found his seat and let out a big happy sigh as he rested his legs. The Mayor approached the podium and began reading the same bullshit he spewed each year; the history of Panem, the destruction of what was once known as North America and the new gleaming country lead by the Capitol that 'rose from the ashes'. Then there were the revolts, which lead to the Hunger Games.

Yada, yada, yada.

He yawned, and burped. Effie let out a disgusted sound as she waved her hand in front of her face.

He only shrugged, half paying attention to the Mayor, just waiting for Effie to leave him and approach the podium where she would name the names of kids to be killed this year 'round.

He barely grunted when it happened, Effie shuffling to the podium with her super high heels.

He looked around at the glum crowd, silent, waiting, and then at the Peacekeepers. Maybe if he stood up, started shouting random shit, they'd take him away.

"Ladies First!" Effie cried out before shuffling to the further bowl of names on the stage.

Maybe if he said the word 'Revolution', that would get him shot. Maybe then they'd stop the reaping.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

Aww shucks, a flower as her name? She was doomed. He burped again, silently this time, his gaze moving from the Peacekeepers to the middle aisle of the crowd, where a lone girl was stiffly walking towards them.

He froze, his eyes growing wide.

She must've been the same age as Finn was before...

She had a tiny body, a thin frame with no muscle whatsoever. She'd barely last an hour...

"Prim! _Prim!_ " another girl screams, the crowd breaking apart as an older girl, her brown hair tucked into braids on her head comes forward, a manic look on her face.

He'd probably be acting the same if Finn's name was called all those years ago...

"I volunteer! I volunteer as Tribute!"

Everyone fell silent but Haymitch found himself standing up.

He blinked, staring at the brown haired girl giving hushed words to the young girl whose name who was originally called now being pulled away by a muscled boy.

Volunteer?

She fucking _volunteered_ for her own death?

The Peacekeepers made way as she approached the stage, a look of utter fear on her face, her hands clenched into fists as she climbed the stage and was manhandled by Effie.

"Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games!" she cried out and Haymitch snorted. "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen."

His legs felt weak and he fell back onto his chair.

An older sister.

He clenched his own hands into fists.

Yes, he would've been acting manic if Finn's name had been called all those years ago... But would he have volunteered?

He stared at the young girl, probably the same age as he was when his name was called.

But she gave her own name. It wasn't chosen for her.

_She volunteered._

It was as though he had just taken an icy cold shower - he was alert more than ever, as though he was actually sober.

He continued to stare at the girl, standing with her back straight as she looked over the crowd in front of them, the first ever to volunteer in this District since the Games first started.

He tilted his head.

This was going to be an interesting year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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